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Eespectfully dedicated to two 
fighting editors, sons of Liberty, 


D. C. O’M ALLY and Wm. E. Hbaest 


Dramatized 


Copyright 1908 


By Connoisseur’s Press 


All Eights Keserved 


INDEX. 


Chapter. 


Page. 

I 

Introducing- Friends 

■ 15 

II 

When I Was Duped 


III 

The Shadow on The Curtain . . 

40 

ly 

The Rupture 

S 3 

V 

The Tragedy of a Gray Glove 


VI 

When Conscience Died 


VII 

Unmasking a Villain 

94 

VIII 

In Defense of Honor 


IX 

We Ride in “Black Maria” . . , 

122 

X 

Bested 


XI 

Rebuffed 

150 

XII 

Sundering the Bonds 

163 

XIII 

Frustrated 

175 

XIV 

The Trap 

191 

XV 

The Chasm of Death 


XVI 

Mardi Gras 


XVII 

The Sequel to King Rex's Ball 

242 

XVIII 

When Natures Clashed 


XIX 

The Kiss of Fire 


XX 

A Trying Ordeal 


XXI 

P. S. With Apologies to the 

Heiresses 


Named 

304 

XXII 

Sight-seeing 

320 

XXIII 

City Park 

340 

XXIV 

The Plot Thickens 

357 

XXV 

The Thunderbolt 

375 

XXVI 

Who’s Who? 

389 

XXVII 

The Tragedy 

405 

XXVIII 

’ In Rebuttal 

419 


Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London, E. 0. 


PEEFACE 


This is a warning to you who read this book 
not to hand it to your children or to the young 
folks. A man under the age of twenty-five, and a 
woman under twenty-three, if unmarried, has no 
business perusing the contents of this volume, for 
neither possess the eruditeness of impartial de- 
duction nor the forming of a logical hypothesis rela- 
tive to the diversified ethics laid bare in this com- 
pilation of facts when under the above specified 
ages; neither is capable of reading the succeeding 
pages and derive therefrom a moral lesson. In- 
stead, thoughts derogatory to Virtue would rise 
up in their hearts and create an unrest that bald 
experience alone could sate. 

The following pages are taken from facts, irref- 
ragable ones, and blended into readable form by 
an eye-witness and an actor. Truth is not ham- 
liered by polite sayings; vice is not gilded by con- 
ventional phraseology, and Sex, that eternal per- 
plexing question, is handled with steel prougs in- 
stead of the habitual silk mitten. 

A storm of protest will arise from certain cities 
and sweep this country from north to south; con- 


X 


PREFACE. 


llscation of this book and countless libel suits 
would not surprise me in the least; and, should 
such come to pass, I pledge every dollar that I 
possess in a gigantic battle to rid from the Face 
of Eespectability certain quarters of obscene char- 
acters so far basking in the shrine of Immunity, 
secure behind the portals of glaring Sin that 
spreads its contaminating filth from coast to 
coast. 

In a recent magazine article a writer made an 
attempt to air the salaciousness of a scoundrel vile 
as hell, yet failed to raise a storm of righteous in- 
dignation from the rank and file of our loyal Amer- 
icans because he failed to strike at the fundamental 
root of this cankering evil. I have dug into the 
very vitals of this cancer, and, if plain common 
English fails to rouse our sons and daughters of 
Liberty to the damnable traffic carried on in Nev/ 
York, Chicago and New Orleans, then God help 
this Country and its destiny. 

I have not written this book with the object 
that it serve as a means to pass an idle hour or 
two; I have not compiled the succeeding facts so 
girls and boys in their teens may ^^steal one mad 
hour,^^ as a certain writer put it relative to a re^ 
cent fast seller, with the object of warping their 
all too plastic minds by gleaning an mcorrect 
rendering of the exploitation of certain scenes and 


PREFACE. 


xi 


incidents hereinafter set forth, so shocking to 
this twentieth century’s civilization. 

Unimaginable crimes are taking place beneath 
our very eyes and those of the Law, crimes that 
vie in horror with those of ancient Sodoma and 
Gomorrah. 

Marriage, the concrete cause of so many evils, is 
not wrong in its basic principle^ only inasmuch as 
it bears a relationship to Divorce, a preponderating 
evil that appears to be growing to monumental pro- 
portions from year to year. Keep the young men 
away from the houses of ill-fame; exercise a little 
more Spartan authority when dealing with the 
future mothers of the generations to come; banish 
by exile every godless siren who feasts upon the 
spoils of Flesh ; regulate the acquaintances of your 
sons and daughters; see to it that they eschew the 
Blaney blood-and-thunder shows, and you will be 
fighting for the resurrection of old Morality and 
Virtue, twins who saw defeat under the avalanche 
of pampered corruption, and prated as principles 
out o’ date by American constituents of Codfish 
Aristocracy. 

I spare no one. An ace is called an ace and a 
spade a spade. I carry to this day a hard knot on 
the back of my head as a gentle memento of a pro- 
longed investigation into the conditions prevalent 
in a certain city’s shielded district, the same as a 


xii 


PREFACE. 


certain character mentioned in a certain chapter of 
this book carries a ball of lead in one of his legs 
for exposing a number of unsavory episodes in the 
life of a man who should have been cracking stones 
in a penitentiary instead of warming the seat of 
the oflftee he now holds. 

Since delving into certain phases hereinafter 
elucidated, I have come to the conclusion that the 
dispensers of Justice are affected with a bad at- 
tack of nearsightedness, and that some generous 
son of Liberty ought to present them with a pair 
of magnifying spectacles. If this hypothesis is 
erroneous, why then do our Judges fail to see the 
daily encroachment of Corporate Graft? Why is 
it that a pampered sybarite swears off nine- tenths 
of his personal tax under the two-faced Non-Resi- 
dent law? I have in mind the case of a man rated 
by Bradstreet and Dun as a millionaire eighty- 
five times over, who pays a personal tax on but 
$200,000. Why are the $84,800,000 not taxed? 
Why enforce the law to its fullest extent on the 
poor and middle classes and lick the paws of 
Plutocrats and predatory Wealth, like a dog its 
master’s hand? 

Once again I ask my readers to see to it that the 
young folks do not read this book, that they will 
pardon the scathing expletives hurled against cer- 
tain offenders who profit by the traffic of trauscon- 


PREFACE. 


xiii 


tinental vice; and, with the hope that the true 
American residents of a certain city will bear me 
no ill-will on account of what is laid bare in the 
following chapters, I beg to remain, 

Most faithfully yours, 


Stewart, 

MCMVIII. 


CHAPTER I. 


INTRODUCING FRIENDS, 

To begin with, my name is Everett Bangs, and, 
being the narrator, I believe that it is not amiss to 
state that I was the unconscious cause of the com- 
ing denouements enacted by my friends and here- 
inafter set forth in cold type with Imagination rele- 
gated to the rear and facts mounted on the irref- 
ragable pedestal of Truth incontrovertible to 
scathing invectives and jaundiced expostulations 
of those who may condemn it to the contrary not- 
withstanding. 

I say without peradventure that Cyrus Scencio, 
my college chum and bosom friend, was, and, for 
that matter, is to-day as moral and conscientious a 
Christian as ever graced human society when segre- 
gated from the baneful and hypnotic influence of 
her, known to the actors of this drama and intro- 
duced to the reader, as “Silence.” 

Have you felt the effects of the opalescent gleam 
of a cat’s scintillating disks in the pall of a noc- 

15 


16 


SILENCE. 


turnal night when the moon is blanketed in a 
shroud of Opaque’s blackest hue and stars are 
submerged in an angry heaven’s crepe, or have you 
experienced the chilling sensations evoked by the 
phosphorescent exhalation of a bog, just when the 
sun is lost to view on its westward journey to the 
land of Vishnu and Siva, and you are caught in the 
solitary stillness of a primeval swamp, where owls 
and wolfs come forth to make the night a reign of 
terror with their strident howls and reverberating 
cries? If so, then you have but a faint conception 
of the eerie sensations that suck the vitals from 
one’s heart and soul when caught by the spell of 
“Silence’s” midnight orbs that pierce one to the 
very bone; but of her anon. 

Cyrus Scencio was an Italian of noble lineage, 
brought to this country at the tender age of four 
when the elder Scencio was consul at New Orleans, 
La. In one of the spastic epidemics of yellow-fever 
the parents of Cyrus died. However, this is no 
startling intelligence to those unfortunate sons of 
Liberty who have felt the Wanderlust and visited 
the dirty, inhospitable shores of New Orleans, a 
town where disease is as rampant as the cholera in 
India, and where the gutters of streets literally 
knock one down with their ascending nauseating 
smells or putrid vapors. Of its w’orld-famed Mardi 
Gras, when sybaritic lewdness runs unchecked and 


INTRODUCING FRIENDS. 


17 


prostitutes in skin-tight costumes mingle with those 
of probity and of virtue, I will treat in its proper 
place when the action of this story leaps from New 
York to this most unconventional, un-American and 
uncosmopolitan town in these United States. 

The Mountains of Tennessee are noted for the 
manufacture of illicit whiskey; ’tis also a safe re- 
treat from the voracious jaws of Yellow Jack,*’ 
whither the black Mammy who was the nurse of 
Cyrus took her charge, remaining there on a large 
farm until the lad was ripe for school. 

An uncle having a large importing and export- 
ing business in New York was appointed guardian 
over Cyrus, so to New York he went with his faith- 
ful Mammy, attending the public school, then the 
high school, and finally entering college at the age 
of seventeen, where he and I became the best of 
friends. 

Being somewhat of an esthetic temperamentj 
and inclining toward the higher arts, he added 
painting, sculpture and music to his curriculum, 
and made such headway in the first named that he 
attracted the attention of several art critics in New 
Y"ork. 

The second year of our scholastic career there en- 
rolled in the junior class a fine athletic lad, Wil- 
burt Cassaway, Jr., who at once took a violent 
liking to young Cyrus, and an equally violent dis- 


18 


SILENCE. 


like to me for reasons unknown to me even at this 
late date. 

Cassaway’s father was immensely wealthy, con- 
trolled a great Metropolitan Daily, for whose chief 
post his only son and heir was being educated, with 
the view of at some future date editing this giant 
periodical that catered to America’s great middle 
class. 

I myself am poor as the proverbial “church 
mouse,” my father having died when I was but a 
babe in swaddling-clothes. Fortunately though he 
had left ten thousand dollars in the way of life in- 
surance to my mother, which, safely invested, 
meted out a mediocre existence for us two, ?.nd en- 
abled me to secure an academic education ; also, in- 
cidentally mixing me up in the net of a grea . Ne v 
York scandal in high life. 

Our “Apollo” (so the boys labeled Cyrus on ac- 
count of his dark beauty) grew very chummy with 
the interloper — Wilburt Cassaway. In fact, after 
our matriculation he purposely slighted me with 
gross negligence and without just cause, notwith- 
standing the fact that we had bachelor apartments 
together. 

Choosing the Law as my profession I made sev- 
eral very advantageous acquaiutances in the highei' 
walks of life, and failed not to leave each addi- 
tional acquisition of influence and affluence to be 


INTRODUCING FRIENDS. 


19 


of a paramount help to my struggling artist chum 
and brother. 

Singers have a hard time in securing recogni- 
tion; sculptures, too, appear to have their full 
quota of ^^hard luck’’; but, readers, for downright 
unappreciativeness consign me to the painters and 
authors. Unless you have a name — capital 
please — attached to your cognomen, you stand as 
much show of securing a hearing or even receiving 
a word of encouragement as old Nick has in con- 
quering the impregnable walls of Paradise. Looking 
back to the struggling days of Cyrus the thought 
occurs to me that no world-renowned painter 
or writer is born with the handles that now adorn 
their names. And yet, purveyors of works of art 
and publishers alike treat with contempt a rising 
aspirant to one of the solitary niches in the ^^Hall 
of Fame,” a temple dedicated to Genius, and yet, 
strangely, for some unexplained reason, waging an 
eternal antithesis against poor Edgar Allen Poe 
and crowning as immortal one Jonathan Edwards 
who assayed to scale the lofty heights of Posy’s 
sublimest apex, and lost himself in the lower wiKls 
of old Manhattan Island. 

Love must precede marriage the same as an in- 
troduction must forego the reciprocal stage of 
avowed affection ; all of which happened in a logi- 
cal order and sequence with Wilburt Cassaway, 


20 


SILENCE. 


Jr., and Cyrus Scencio, with the narrator so far 
excepted. 

It was at a ball given by one of the members of 
Society’s younger set with whom Wilburt Cassa- 
way, Jr., was, according to patriis virtutihus, one 
of the elect, that Cyrus Scencio met the woman 
who became his wife. Unlike most Southern 
women, Janice la Trube was a blonde, of mediocre 
height, of charming personality ; and had but lately 
returned from Milan where she had studied music 
with her friend, Florence Esty, who was destined 
to become Mrs. Wilburt Cassaway, Jr. 

I remember most poignantly that fateful ball, 
fateful for many reasons, as the reader will see in 
the succeeding chapters. It was in May; the night 
was burdened with the heavy perfume of budding 
trees ; the sky was like a crystal lake of onyx water ; 
the stars set in the alabaster dome of Heaven, dia- 
monds that whispered Love’s sacred tale to the dis- 
tant moon in a lake of blue; and, as I sat with my 
cigar on a bench beneath a majestic oak, I heard 
the bell-like laughter of my friend Cyrus, and the 
silver voice of his companion across the gravel path 
from me, whilst in the distance, off from the spout- 
ing fountain, floated the murmuring echo of a love- 
sick couple whom I knew to be Wilburt and Miss 
Esty. 

What vows were made that night beneath the 


INTRODUCING FRIENDS. 


21 


Prussian blanket of the eternal skies I know not. 
Suffice to say that when I returned, having firsi: 
dined at a downtown restaurant, I met Cyrus 
awaiting me with much show of impatience. 

did a strange thing to-night, Et’ ’’ (he always 
called me so for short). 

Strange perhaps, Cyrus, but nothing of which 
you are ashamed, old boy?’’ I asked. 

^^No,” blushing like a schoolboy to the roots of 
his black hair, ^ffio. I was not alone, for with me 
was the Great Spirit, the angels and the stars.” 

In consternation I stared at him for fully a min- 
ute. And yet I should not have been surprised, 
for artists say queer things, think unconventional 
things, with their highstrung temperament always 
in the ascendency. 

^^Look here, Et’, how about that canvas I commis- 
sioned you to sell?” 

^^Over at your desk is the check.” 

^Then you disposed of it?” 

'A^es. For |420.” 

^^Not a munificent sum for the ^Eclipse,’ eh, Et’, 
especially when I devoted four long months to it?” 

^^No.” 

^^Thanks for your help, though. It comes in 
handy now,” and he blushed again as he filled his 
pipe and made himself easy in a large Turkish 
chair. ^^I may be an unmitigated fool, and I may 


22 


SILENCE. 


■be a disguised Socrates,” and lie laughed heartily, 
until his chiseled face was wet with tears. 

“What is it that has placed your spirits in this 
undeflnable mood?” 

“Sist!” and he held up his immaculate finger. 
“Softly, Et’.” 

“Well?” I whispered, feeling as if the next an- 
nouncement would be a confession of murder. 

“I’m engaged to be married,” whereupon he hid 
his face in a dense cloud of smoke. 

“Married!” I shouted, as I leaped to my feet. 

“And do you not like the idea?” 

“Good Lord!” I groaned, as I stared the man in 
the face who was about to wreck his genius on the 
altar of Love. 

“I think that an artist should have a helpmate 
to ” 

“Fiddlesticks!” I cut in. “What business has 
an artist with a wife, answer me? About as much 
as a dog has with a diamond tiara.” 

“Not so hasty, Et’.” 

“Look here, Cyrus. What do you know of the 
gentler sex?” 

“Know?” and he laughed heartily. “Oh, 
Heavens! Have I not painted enough of them to 
know what they’re made of?” 

“You’re a simpleton! Yes, you have painted 
^uite a few, but that is all, all sir.” 


INTRODUCING FRIENDS. 


23 


‘‘Do you not think that I made a minute study of 
their character, disposition and mental qualities?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“And do you not believe that I am able to dis- 
cern the sterling qualities of a noble woman when 
I meet her?” 

“Have you met her?” 

“I certainly have.” 

“Were you introduced to her?” 

“Most assuredly.” 

“By whom?” 

“Wilburt Cassaway.” 

“May I ask the young lady’s name?” 

“By all means. Janice la Trube, from New Or- 
leans, please.” 

“Had you met the young lady previous to the 
ball?” 

“No. Why do you ask?” 

“Because if you have but just been introduced, 
and you already announce yourself engaged, I am 
compelled to believe that you are a fit subject for 
Bellevue’s insane ward.” 

“Then you do not believe in love at first sight?” 

“Decidedly no. A man does not understand a 
woman thoroughly after ten years of married life; 
how then can a couple at first acquaintance recon- 
cile themselves to the belief that they are suitably 
mated?” 


24 


SILENCE. 


“I cannot argue this question. Let others who 
delight in solving perplexing ramifications devote 
their energies to its logical deduction whilst you 
and I take up the subject of my approaching mar- 
riage.” 

“And when is it to be solemnized?” 

“The third Wednesday in June.” 

“I am going to have a Lunacy Commission to 
examine you as to your sanity.” 

“Thanks! The wedding is to take place at the 
bride’s residence and you are to be my best man.” 

Eesignedly I concurred to his fool proposition, 
and was mentally prognosticating the ultimate out- 
come of this marriage in haste when the hall-boy 
announced Wilburt Cassaway, Jr. 

“Ye gods! Who would have thought it pos- 
sible!” and Cyrus leaned his head back and 
shouted with glee at the nonplused Wilburt. 

“What kind of a greeting do you call this, idiot?” 
shaking his friend by the shoulder. 

“When’s the nuptial-knot to be tied?” 

“Confound you !” floundering in the nearest 
chair, “who in the name of all that’s holy ” 

“Oh come, Wilburt, confess that you are to 
launch your matrimonial craft in the very near 
future, and that yours truly is to be your best 
man.” 

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” 


WmODUCING FRIENDS. 


25 


so by all means/’ with a sly wink at me. 

^^As a rule my plans are laid in silence, yet for 
the nonce I appear to have bungled.” 

^^Not so, friend. I simply surmised the truth. I 
am sorry though that I cannot accommodate you 
by serving in the delightful capacity of best man, 
for I myself am to be married the third Wednesday 
in June.” 

^^The devil you say !” his eyes growing large with 
surprise and bewilderment. 

^Wes. And Et’ here has consented to act as my 
best man. When is your wedding scheduled to take 
elfect?” 

^^June the twenty-eighth.” 

^Why not have it on the same day as mine? 
What a capital idea! A double marriage in the 
Little Church around the corner, great!” 
dare you to say this in real earnest.” 

^^But I do say so.” 

^^Then I’ll take you up.” 

^^Look here, boys, this is all a joke, and must 
not be,”* I interposed. ^^Do use a little common 
sense in a matter of such monumental importance.” 

^^If Mr. Scencio,” with a flashing look at me, 
^‘is willing to be spliced on the same day and place 
with his friend, then I fail to see where such a 
procedure would interfere with your humdrum ex- 


20 


SILENCE. 


istence, save a necessary rupture in your Bohemian 
mode of living.^’ 

What was I to do with such unmitigated im- 
beciles? Then and there the two hypnotized swains 
perfected their idiotic designs, appointed the hour, 
church, minister, etc., etc., mapped out an itinerary 
where they proposed to spend their joint honey- 
moon, and made the night merry with college 
yarns and songs. 

True to their words, the double marriage oc- 
curred on the third Wednesday in June; and, after 
an elaborate dinner, served at one of New York^s 
famous restaurants, the two couples left for parts 
unknown. 

Seated in my office at about 4 p. m. and enjoying 
the fine write-up of my friends’ marriage in an eve- 
ning paper antagonistic to the editorial principles 
of Wilburt Cassaway’s sheet, I was roused from my 
easy chair by the appearance of the elder Cassaway. 
His face was abnormally red, his eyes were dancing 
mad with fire, his entire mien spoke simon-pure 
anger. 

^^Have you seen the news?” flashing his enemy’s 
sheet before me. 
have.” 

^^Do you believe it?” 

certainly do, for I myself was best man for 
Cyrus Scencio.” 


INTRODUCING FRIENDS. 


27 


^^Thunder and blazes!’’ and he relieved himself 
of a fearful oath as he hastened from my office, took 
the elevator and disappeared from view. 

Just why he had been ignored relative to his 
son’s marriage was a conundrum to me, and gave 
me food for thought during the entire absence of 
the honeymooners. Parental opposition may have 
had something to do with it. His own paper had 
had no notice of his son’s wedding to the charm- 
ing Miss Esty, a new and favorite debutante of So- 
ciety’s chosen few. 

But there came a time when Wilburt Oassaway, 
Sr., fought valiantly, incessantly and courageously 
for the name and honor of his son’s wife, fought 
giant battles against Blind Passion and the sting 
of secret Incest, for the salvation of his son, for the 
respect that had been his until this shadow crossed 
his aging life. 


CHAPTER II. 


WHEN I WAS DUPED. 

It was late in August that a mysterious woman 
invaded the rooms across the street from the apart- 
ment house where lived, to all intents and purposes, 
as happy two couples as ever sipped the honey of 
reciprocal love from the font of connubial bliss. 

Cassaway and Scencio returned together, leased 
the apartments above mentioned, and through Cy- 
rus’ insistency I reluctantly consented to take the 
bachelor quarters on the third floor directly above 
his suite. A large, spacious hall separated the 
suites of the two couples. 

There w^as enacted an ugly scene betw-een Wil- 
burt and his irate sire, ending in the old gentleman 
disinheriting the young man and, strangely, en- 
gaging Cyrus on a salary of |6,000 a year to take 
charge of his paper’s art department. 

Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., was not a millionaire by 
any means, though his tastes were of the most 
sybaritic. From an estate willed him by his mother 
28 


WHEN I WAS DUPED. 


29 


lie had about |65,000, besides owning one hundred 
thousand acres of rich pine lands in the states of 
North and South Carolina, purchased by him soon 
after his advent into the head editorial chair of his 
father’s giant paper. And as was but natural, the 
wives of these two men became the best of friends 
and continued as such until the Woman in Purple 
across the street loomed large on the ascending 
horizon of their domestic hearths. 

Being a bachelor, and having no dinner await- 
ing me at home, I dined first at one restaurant and 
then at another as Dame Fancy prompted. 

This August day of which I speak was unusually 
hot; and, I was just in the act of closing my desk 
when the lad, who was my clerk and general facto- 
tum, announced in treble voice that a most beauti- 
ful lady wished to see Mr. Bangs. 

We all have a certain streak of curiosity in our 
makeup, and I confess without shame that I have 
my full quota, whether abnormal or not I leave for 
others to decide. 

Even now I blush to my very ears when I bethink 
myself of the following puerile actions that took 
place in my office immediately after the lad’s an- 
nouncement. In. the rear of my private sanctum 
was a small closet furnished with a washstand, 
towel-rack and the necessary paraphernalia usually 
found in a well-appointed office building. And 


30 


SILENCE. 


thither I hastened to array my hair as becomingly 
as' possible, retied my cravat several half dozen 
times, brushed my clothes, trimmed my fingernails 
as though I were scheduled to meet the queen of 
Andalusia. The woman was awaiting my appear- 
ance, and such a woman! I fairly gasped in as- 
tonished admiration. 

“Mr. Everett Bangs, I presume?” extending her 
geweled hand. 

“At your disposal, madam,” I heard myself ar- 
ticulate. 

“Miss,” she corrected with a seductive smile that 
won approval from me then and there, a smile that 
stole into my heart and bound me slave to her 
future whims and fancies. 

“I am come to see you pertaining to a most vital 
subject, that of robbery.” 

“Bobbery I” I echoed, though why I did so I can- 
not divine. 

“Yes. A pearl necklace worth |46,000 was stolen 
from my jewel-box last night between the hours 
of 9 and 12 p. m. 

“But I am not a detective. Miss.” 

“Am I not aware of the fact?” 

“My name is Bangs, Everett Bangs; and yours?” 

“Silence.” 

Here’s a mystery, thought I, as I quieted my 
throbbing nerves and sat perfectly still for at least 


WHEN I WAS DUPED. 


31 


a full minute. And, hearing nothing unusual I 
rose from my seat, opened the door and surveyed 
the hall. It was deserted. And, only after closing 
and locking the door did I perceive that my strange 
visitor was engaged in a vain endeavor to stifle 
fach ascending cachinnation. 

^^What made you say silence?’’ 

^‘Did you not ask me my name? 
did so.” 

^^What retainer do you demand for undertaking 
the recovery of my stolen necklace?” 

^^Its recovery is out of my jurisdiction. The po- 
lice department attend to such matters.” 

^Tolice!” and she surveyed me with drooping 
eyelashes that shaded eyes of a — to me — nonde- 
script color. 

^^Yes.” 

^^When I wish a policeman I call him, when I 
have work for a lawyer I consult him. The case 
which I mentioned is for the unraveling of an as- 
tute lawyer, and not a bungling policeman.” 

^^Thanks for the compliment.” 

^^Keep the change.” 

This vernacular expression roused my thoughts 
to flights of speculation and conjecture. Was she 
an actress? It is most probable, also possible that 
such was her avocation, else where had she learned 
this little harmless though vulgar expression? 


32 


SILENCE. 


“Will two per cent of the value of the pearls be 
a sufficient stipend to induce you to take hold of 
my case?” 

“Heavens ! not that much. If you really insist I 
will take the case for $200.” 

“Here’s the money,” and she handed me four 
crisp fifty dollar notes. 

“State now the full particulars so I may make 
a memorandum of them for future reference,” said 
I, as I extracted my fountain pen and a small note- 
book from my vest pocket. 

“It was this morning, to be concise, about 2.15 
A. M. that I missed the pearls, having but just re- 
turned from a dinner.” 

“How long have you lived at your present ad- 
dress?” 

“Three weeks,” smiling most captivatingly. 

“Have you any servants?” 

“Yes, three in number. A maid, a cook and a 
coachman. But it is useless to suspect any of 
these.” 

“Whom do you suspect?” 

“A dark-looking gentlema) vt ery good looking, 
long black mustache, abo-’ six feet tall, and 
straight as an arrow,” an she me search- 

though I will swear that for the moment 
I was nonplused. 

Great beads of perspiration stood like sentinels 


WHEN I WAS DUPED. 


33 


upon my wildly throbbing brow, my hands trembled 
spasmodically, my eyes seemed to be peering into an 
impenetrable haze as my mind labored in the 
blanket of chaos, doubt and fear; for her descrij)- 
tion, great heavens! it tallied with that of my 
bosom friend, Cyrus Scencio. 

^^Have you the description, Mr. Bangs?’^ 

have,’^ I managed to force my lips to mutter. 

^^This imposing gentleman I saw with my own 
eyes just as I stepped from the elevator. He had a 
very small package under his arm, and appeared 
in a desperate hurry. My door had been locked, 
yet when I first saw this man he seemed to me to 
have just come from my room. I was dreadfully 
frightened, but only for a moment. In passing 
dowm the corridor the man had to pass a brilliant 
cluster of electric lights fastened in the ceiling 
overhead, and whilst doing so I was given a good 
view of his face, about the handsomest one that I 
have seen in this country.’^ 

^^Was that the last you saw of him?^^ 

''No.'' 

^^Have you seen th’^ man since?’’ 

''Yes.” 1 

"When and where?> b 

I held to the chair with grim determination not 
to reveal my emotions as she spoke. 

"This morning I was seated at one of my parlor 


34 


SILENCE. 


■windows when the handsome Adonis who hypothe- 
cated my pearls made his reappearance. Eight 
across the street, at No. 17, I saw him. He stood 
on the stoop for a moment, waved his hat to a 
young woman and disappeared around the corner.” 

“Are you morally certain of your identification? 
Unlooked-for trouble will be yours if you should 
be so unfortunate as to err in your hypothesis.” 

“I am not mistaken.” 

“Do you know the man’s name?” 

“I do.” 

“And how did you ascertain it?” 

“By sending Philip, my coachman, to inquire.” 

“What is his name?” 

“Cyrus Scencio, an artist, and but lately mar- 
ried.” 

“Have you consulted any one else relative to the 
loss of your pearls?” 

“I have not.” 

“How long has he lived at No. 17?” 

I was asking unnecessary questions for the sole 
reason of allowing my mind a chance to recuperate 
from the sudden shock that it had received in this 
strange woman’s bold assertion that dear old Cyrus 
W'as a thief and robber. 

“I do not know, nor do I care. I want a warrant 
sworn out for his immediate arrest, also a search 
warrant so that my jew'els may be recovered, and,” 


WHEN I WAS DUPED. 


35 


rising, “I expect you to act at once,” and before I 
could recover my shattered wits the woman had 
left. 

Seething with conflicting emotions I sat in my 
chair and tried to reason the thing out to a logical 
hypothesis, but to no avail. 

“Great heavens !” I suddenly shouted, as I leaped 
to my feet. “What’s the woman’s name?” Had I 
at flrst been so completely fascinated by the 
woman’s beauty that I forgot to ask her name, and 
had the stunning blow of her averment blighted my 
otherwise receptive thinking apparatus into a state 
of personifled lunacy? What was I to do? The 
man accused was my best friend. 

In a whirlwind of conflicting emotions I left my 
office, and soon found myself at a police precinct 
station, though how I got there seems a mystery to 
me, even after a lapse of several years. I remem- 
ber applying for the warrants in my name as legal 
adviser for Woman in Purple, also that I gave them 
to two officers to be served. Whether I dined at a 
restaurant I do not recollect. The old Bartholdi 
Hotel had been our rendezvous for years, and 
thither I wended my weary steps, wrote a small 
note addressed to “Woman in Purple,” at Ko. 16 
Street, dispatched it by a messenger, or- 
dered a room and went to sleep. 

It was about nine-thirty the following morning 


3G 


SILENCE. 


that I presented myself at the Criminal Court 
Building, where I engaged a very talented lawyer 
to defend my friend’s forthcoming trial for rob- 
bery. And there, in her most bewitching purple 
dress and beaming with smiles that would have put 
the stars to shame, was my friend’s accuser. 

Cyrus was black with wrath, his wife and Wil- 
burt’s were weeping, all unaware of the identity of 
the woman who was the fundamental cause of this 
unlooked-for catastrophe. 

I noted, too, the peculiar expression on the wom- 
an’s face as she fixed her penetrating eyes upon the 
flushed face of Cyrus. To describe it is beyond me. 
But it was not that of animosity, neither that of 
triumph, the kind that one would expect to see 
v'hen we have in the toils of the Law a person who 
has caused us pain or sorrow. I have seen a great 
Nubian lioness lick her offspring in a circus men- 
agerie, a rasping stroke of the tongue that was 
both rough and tender; and so did this strange 
woman appear to me, her eyes devouring the 
esthetic beauty of her — to me apparent — prey. 
Like the coruscating flash of a flying meteor I saw 
with clarified senses and with a pang of aching 
remorse that I had been duped as though I had 
been but a simpleton. 

To an attache she whispered a few words, rose, 
bowed with radiant face and eyes at Cyrus, and 


WHEl^ I WAS DUPED, 


37 


with the carriage of an Oriental queen, the frou- 
frou of her silken petticoats sounded her maladroit 
departure. 

I was stunned. Phantasmagoric conceptions of 
a floating creature in purple swam before my be- 
wildered eyes ; spectacular visions of singing 
wraiths, and all having the identical facial expres- 
sion and eyes of the mysterious woman, flitted be- 
fore me with wrinkled faces convulsed with devil- 
ish glee. I had been duped, a cat^s-paw was I, but 
why, and for whom, ay, for whom? 

It w^as long after the court order had announced 
the withdrawal of the charges against my friend 
that I awoke from the profoundity of my reverie, 
or coma if you will, and learned to my dismay that 
all the actors in this strange denouement had dis- 
appeared. So calling a hansom I hurried to the 
Scencios’ apartments and entered the sitting-room. 

Voices heard I, but whose was the man’s? Not 
Cyrus’, that I’ll vouch. The woman’s though I 
recognized as that of his wife, and the man’s, great 
gods! could it in any manner be that of Wilburt’s? 
If so, what were they doing in the next room? 

A man’s silk hat, cane and gloves attracted my 
immediate attention, whereupon I hastened to ex- 
amine them. 

They were Wilburt’s! 

Shame-faced, and burning with heat, I made my 


38 


SILENCE. 


way from the room and knocked for admittance on 
the suite across the aisle belonging to my friend^s 
companion. 

A tear-stained face greeted me. 

^Where is Wilburt?’’ I hastily asked. 

^^We quarrelled,” with a copious flush of new: 
tears. 

^^About what?” ’Twas none of my business, yet 
what else was I to say? 

^‘The Woman in Purple.” 

^The Woman in Purple?” I fairly shouted. 

^Wes. Wilburt called her a cat, and I resented 
it.” 

^^Most unbecoming of a gentleman!” 

^^He has taken a terrible dislike against this most 
charming woman, says that she has eyes like a devil 
and that she moves her body when walking like the 
wriggling of a snake.” 

^^Not a superlative compliment!” and I forced 
myself to laugh. Yet his deductions coincided with 
mine in every respect. 

^^Did you meet Wilburt in the corridor?” 

^^No,” and I flushed crimson as I bethought my- 
self of the voices in the room across the hall. 

‘‘1 so greatly admire the Woman in Purple, and 
would be pleased to make her acquaintance, but 
Wilburt is so obstinate.” 

^^I’ll see what I can do,” whereupon I excused 


WHEN I WAS DUPED. 


39 


myself and returned to the suite of my friend in a 
dreadful state of perturbation of mind and soul. 

The voices were louder. 

“Drop it!” commanded an angry voice. 

“What in the name of heavens ” 

Bang! 

It was a pistol report ; the door flew open, a burly 
man ran pellmell into me, knocking me down and 
Stumbling over my prostrate body. 

I heard a woman’s cry for help, caught the gleam 
of a pistol’s nickeled barrel pointing at the 
stranger, then oblivion. 

Some hours later when I recovered my shattered 
senses, I found myself alone in my room, my head 
swathed in bandages and a pungent odor perva- 
ding the atmosphere. 

Directly I was dressed, descended the stairs and 
knocked for admittance at the suite occupied by 
my artist friend. They were empty. 

Crossing over to the opposite suite I tried the 
same experiment, and with the same result. 

The entire experience seemed most mysterious to 
me. Account for it I could not. The pistol shot, 
the woman’s terrified cry for help, the deadly gleam 
of the weapon in the hands of Wilburt Cassaway, 
Jr., and then the terrific blow upon my inoffensive 
head I remembered most poignantly. But where 
were the actors, ay, where? 


CHAPTER HI. 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN. 

Cyrus had returned from the court in a perplex- 
ing quandary. It had been his first experience as 
a prisoner at the bar of Justice, and had left no 
prepossessing glamor as an aftermath for a man 
of his esthetic temperament. Eternal perdition 
and damnation vowed he upon the woman’s soul 
who had caused him such keen anxiety; and yet, 
it was not so very many hours later that the cul- 
prit forgot all about his imprecations and lost him- 
self in the spider’s well-woven net of mephisto- 
phelian machinations. 

He was just thinking of going to lunch when, 
without warning, the Woman in Purple entered. 

^^Mr. Scencio, I believe?” displaying her pearly 
teeth and extending the pupils of her fascinating 
eyes, a trick of hers that had wrought havoc with 
my senses on a former occasion and did unaccount- 
able mischief with the plastic hearts of the most 
volatile creature on earth, Man. 

40 


TEE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN. 41 


He lost his voice, his senses were stultified, his 
animation congealed ; he was, as the darkies say in 
the sunny South, conjured. 

^^Is not this Mr. Cyrus Scencio, the artist?’^ asked 
the smooth musical voice of the woman before him 
as she helped herself to a seat' and glued her sphinx- 
like orbs on him. 

Like an automaton his hand went to his vest- 
pocket, produced a card, which he handed her with- 
out a word. 

came to apologize, Mr. Scencio, for my error. 
Probably you are not aware that you possess a most 
remarkable double, a man the very counterpart of 
yourself. Who the man may be I do not know. 
Whether he really had my pearls is also an unsolved 
mystery. It was after I had had your case nol- 
prossed that I returned to my apartments, and. 
would you believe me, there on the chiffonier were 
m.y beloved pearls. How do you like them?’’ throw- 
ing back a thin gauze-like garment that was at- 
tached to her waist. 

The warm, half -bare bosom heaved majestically 
the double string of virgin pearls worth a king’s 
ransom. And the effect upon the man was start- 
ling. 

“Please leave me!” he gasped as if in suffoca- 
tion, shielding his eyes as if in intense pain. 

And the laugh that greeted his ears sounded like 


42 


SILENCE. 


heavenly music; low, modulous, it stole into his 
brain and pierced his very heart. 

“Great gods of Eome!” and he leaped to his feet, 
a wild, haunted look in his eyes. “Who are you, 
woman?” gripping her by the arms and holding her 
with hands that were knotted like cords of twisted 
steel. 

The hot, vise-like clutch upon her bare arms 
pained, yet her face was immobile. 

“A model for real artists, sir,” smiling most 
serenely. 

“A model!” he echoed in a low, strange voice, 
a voice so altered that even his wife would not 
have recognized it. 

“Yes. I have posed for Greek subjects, and for. 
the world’s most renowned painters and sculp- 
tors.” 

“A model!” he said softly, as he relaxed his 
hands from their hot hold and covered his eyes as 
she, with a perceptible increase in the hearing of 
her excited bosom, leaned forward like an En- 
chantress and seemed to read his very thought. 

“You want me for a model!” 

“I?” slowly receding. 

“Yes,” following him. 

“How do you know?” 

“Psychic telepathy.” 

“No, no!” 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN. 43 


“Oh, yes, you do. I have seen your Venus at the 
National Academy of Design, and it’s horrid, hor- 
rid. The woman’s figure is coarse-grained, her 
limbs are like the shanks of a goblin.” 

“It was the model’s fault, not mine, “he whis- 
pered in awe. 

“It is an outrage to your gifts, to your percepti- 
bility of the true, classical beauty of the human 
form divine.” 

“I did the best I could.” 

“The best!” and she laughed merrily as she re- 
traced her steps to the door and slowly turned the 
key in the lock unbeknown to the man who was 
caught in the spell of this woman’s dominating 
beauty and influence. 

“Please go, for I expect my wife .at almost any 
moment.” 

“Are you a believer in art, real art?” 

“I am.” 

“Do you recognize a perfect form when you see 
it, a symmetrical figure, one that would make your 
name immortal and rank you as the world’s great- 
est painter of the divinest creature next to the 
gods?” 

“I do.” 

“Then behold your next study for the Venus-to- 
be,” and like magic her clothes left her body and 
she stood before the quaking artist, the living per- 


44 


SILENCE. 


sonification in pink flesh of what the real Venus 
must have looked like in the ages long since re- 
called. 

^‘Great God in Heaven, spare me!’’ he cried in 
terror as he turned around and shoved his face 
toward the wall. 

One minute, three minutes, five minutes, he re- 
mained in his marble-like posture, struck dumb by 
the terrible and fascinating beauty of the woman’s 
nudity as Conscience fought a giant battle with the 
cankerous ascendency of blind and implacable Pas- 
sion. 

^ Woman!” and he spun around like a whipped 
top. ^^Eh?” and he stared in blank amazement at 
the empty room. 

Like the aftermath of a giant storm when oaks 
and spruce tremble to their very roots, he stood 
there, quaking as if rocked by a cyclone. 

His immaculate collar had wilted with the sud- 
den outpour of perspiration, cold as the chill of 
death ; his tapering Angers were dank and cramped 
in convulsed fists; his eyes were black, like the 
stare of king Torpor. 

^^By the eternal heavens ! I’ll barter my position, 
my respect, my all for this bewitching fiend in 
human form,” and he snatched his hat from the 
rack and hastened from the building. In fever- 
ish eagerness he raced to the apartments across 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN. 45 


from his own, and sent his card to the Woman 
in Purple^’ via the elevator boy. 

Minutes seemed an eternity to him as he awaited 
the return of the boy. 

^^At last!’’ he muttered as the lad descended. 

^^Here’s your card, mister.” 

^‘Is she not in?” 

^^She is in, sir.” 

^‘What did she say?” handing him a quarter. 

^^She wrote something on the back of your card, 
sir.” 

have not the pleasure of knowing Mr. Cyrus 
Scencio,” he read aloud. 

With a muttered invective he left the place, re- 
turned to his office and tried to forget the woman 
in an avalanche of work, but to no avail. She 
loomed large on the horizon of his perspective, and 
could not be shook from the garden of his fertile 
memory. With a piece of chalk he marked the 
place where she had disrobed with a cross, then 
sat in his revolving chair and fastened his dark, 
glowing eyes to the fatal spot. 

It was an hour later than usual that he returned 
to his domicile where, after a poor attempt to do 
justice to a most tempting feast, he rose and re- 
paired to the parlor, to be joined in a few minutes 
by his wife and friends from the other suite across 
the hall. 


46 


SILENCE. 


Ostensibly he persisted keeping one of the shades 
up; across the street they were tightly drawn and 
dark; and, as he sat there, his thoughts were far 
removed from the conversation of his friends. 

“I had an awful scare this morning, Cyrus,” said 
his wife. “Florence, Wilburt and I had but just 
returned from the court, and as I entered our 
suite I thought I heard a peculiar noise in our bed- 
room. Are you listening, dear?” 

“I hear what you have to say.” 

“I was somewhat frightened at first, and called 
Wilburt, who was in the hall, to enter our rooms 
and investigate.” 

“That’s why Mr. Everett failed to meet you,” 
said the wife of Cassdway to her spouse. 

“W’^as he looking for me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Wilburt placed his hat, cane and gloves on the 
table in the sitting-room and listened for several 
minutes.” 

Across the street, in the room that Cyrus was 
watching, a light appeared, showing a moving 
shadow reflected on the cream-colored shade. 

“Hearing no strange noise Wilburt had me show 
him the room. At first we saw nothing, though the 
window had been opened. A sudden gush of wind 
poured through the window, frightening me ter- 
ribly as it slammed the door to with a loud bang.” 


TEE SHADOW ON THE CERTAIN. 47 


^^And your jewels?’’ asked Mrs. Cassaway. 

^‘1 am coming to them now. I yelled a little as 
the door flew to, whilst your husband started to 
investigate. On the dresser I usually keep a small 
mahogany box containing my jewels, and it was 
found missing. Naturally I grew excited, and what 
happened then seems somewhat indistinct.” 

^^It does to me, too,” commented young Cassa- 
way, ^^for it occurred so quickly that it wms all 
over in thirty seconds. I heard the deep breath- 
ing of a man under the bed, and when I got on 
my knees to investigate I received a frightful kick 
on my breast. The man rose with the box clasped 
in one hand and a pistol in the other. I com- 
manded him to drop the box,. he fired point blank 
at me, whereupon we grappled, seeing that he had 
missed his mark. Janice screamed murder, and 
in the scuffle the man dropped the box, the door 
flew open and I ran after the escaping rascal, call- 
ing for help. In the race through the room the 
man knocked Bangs down, but fell himself. And as 
might be expected I pounced upon him and tried 
to overpower the scoundrel, receiving this as a 
memento of my encounter,” exhibiting a red lump 
upon his head. ^^The fellow had a billy which he 
used upon our friend Bangs and myself with equal 
effectiveness and with such good result that he 
eluded me.” 


48 


SILENCE. 


“Did you summon the police?” from Cyrus. 

“No.” 

“What!” wheeling about and eyeing his friend 
sharply. 

“Of course not, you simpleton. Do you think 
that we want every little trifling episode aired in 
the papers for the delectation of the vulgar herd?” 

“How many times must I tell you that your so- 
called ‘vulgar herd’ is far better in moral princi- 
ples than your silk-stocking aristocrat who has no 
other claim upon Society than his bags of yellow 
gold?” 

“And, friend, how long will it take you to eradi- 
cate your Bohemian sophistries from your brain?” 

“Until this Government is really governed for 
the masses and not for a favored few.” 

“You’ll get over your quixotic ideas before you’re 
forty.” 

“Hardly.” 

“Here comes our recalcitrant friend,” said Janice 
of me as I entered the room. 

A friendly nod from Cyrus greeted me, yet in 
the twinkling of an eye I perceived that he was not 
his usual self. Something was awry, that I saw at 
once. 

A game of cribbage was proposed, and, as Cyrus 
declined to play, I had to submit with good grace 
and take his place. 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN. 49 


We had been playing for about an hour when 
Cyrus rose and left the room, only to return in a 
few moments with a large drawing pad and crayon 
pencil. Seating himself near the window, he lighted 
a Russian cigarette, of which he was very fond, 
and soon was lost in the profundity of his reverie. 

Wilburt and Mrs. Scencio were having the time 
of their lives, and I, a spectator, saw the scarlet 
tinge creep to WilburCs wife’s cheeks every time 
his fingers appeared to linger on the hands of Mrs. 
Scencio. 

Something about the stillness of my chum at- 
tracted my attention, and forthwith I stole a secret 
glance to where he sat; then by some subtle in- 
stinct focused my eyes on the curtain across the 
street. I saw something, ay, a silhouette saw I, 
outlined most clear and perfect, refiected with the 
clearness of a photographic lense upon the shade. 
It was but a line, with a slight concave curve near 
the top, a solitary line that lost itself in the gap 
of a dusky spreading blanket of impenetrable 
blackness. 

What meant it? What its mystical portent, 
and, of all strange queries, why came it from the 
room inhabitated by the Woman in Purple? 

^^What a narrow squeeze we had, love!” 

Instantly I drew my eyes from the perplexing 


50 


SILENCE. 


diagram on the shade across the street and stared 
in blank amazement at the couple before me. 

“Pardon me, friends, but did you speak?” 

“Why no; but why do you ask?” 

“Oh, I thought I heard you address me, and, be- 
ing just then somewhat removed from my present 
sphere I may not have heard what was said to me.” 

“Then you were dreaming?” from Mrs. Scencio. 

“If you will pardon me, yes,” wondering all the 
while where Wilburt’s wife could have gone. 

“And had you pleasant dreams?” from Wilburt. 

“Far from it. Where’s your wife?” 

“Mrs. Agan called, so she’s gone to reveal her 
diplomatic prowess in excusing herself to this most 
charming woman, who, unfortunately, came at a 
most inopportune moment.” 

“But what of your dream, Mr. Bangs?” 

I looked at her flushed face for several moments 
ere replying: 

“I dreamed” (leaning toward them and speaking 
sotto voce) “of what happened between you two 
this morning when, for a puerile reason, 1 was 
clubbed on the head most unmercifully and un- 
necessarily.” 

The startled look that crept to the eyes of Mrs. 
Scencio was instantly dispelled upon the re-en- 
trance of Mrs. Cassaway. 

Across the street I peered so as not to reveal my 


THE SHADOW ON THE CERTAIN. 51 


thoughts, and what I saw focused upon the shade 
roused my curiosity to a still higher pitch. 

An additional line had been affixed to the previ- 
ous one, w’hilst the black space upon the lower 
part of the shade had been lessened. And Cyrus, 
his head slightly bowed to one side and cigarette 
limp and dead hanging from his netherlip, was 
sketching. 

“I will return just as soon as possible,” I heard 
Wilburt’s wife say as she again left the room, which 
brought my flagging senses back to what was up- 
permost in my mind. 

As soon as the door was closed I leaned my head 
in one hand and eyed the man before me, whose 
face w’as the very apotheosis of unalloyed hatred 
and anger. 

“The scalawag who knocked me down and tried 
his muscles upon my head was, who?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Do you wish me to enlighten you?” 

“If you can.” 

“He was your butler!” 

Had a bomb exploded he could not have been 
more surprised than he was at that precise mo- 
ment. And the woman’s face grew ashen, whilst 
her hands were convulsed in cringing fear and 
horror. 

“You were ” 


52 


SILENCE. 


“Stop!” and he reached across the table and 
clutched my arm. 

“Wilburt Oassaway, you are a scoundrel. You 
have hated me from the time you entered college, 
you tried your uttermost to alienate the aifections 
of Cyrus, my best and only friend, you have hated 
me all these years, hate me at this moment worse 
than the devil does the virtue of a maiden or the 
celibacy of a priest.” 

“I’ll — kill — you!” he hissed, his sibilant voice 
rasping the air as he ground his teeth in imjjotent 
rage. 

“Please do not quarrel,” and the woman started 
to plead with the seething volcano beside her, 
whilst I returned my gaze to the window across the 
street, where another line had been added to the 
existing one; and Cyrus, lost to all knowledge of 
his surroundings, even to the fast impending trag- 
edy that was destined to wreck his life and home, 
sat like a graven image, penciling the strange, 
fantastic lines appearing upon the shade across 
the street. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE RUPTUEE. 

The man’s scarlet frightened the woman to the 
point of hysterics, but I, who had found him in his 
true colors, it had no more effect save, if possible, 
bridling my itching tongue for the all-pervading 
moment. 

In falling, after the unexpected onslaught by the 
burly individual, I caught a faint glimpse of his 
facial features as he sprawled over me, and they 
had appeared more than passingly familiar to me. 
But the brutal blow upon my inoffensive head had 
shattered my wits for several hours. And, not un- 
til night, and whilst stepping from the elevator, 
did the remembrance of the man’s features loom 
before me in the shape of possible identity. And, 
had there been any doubt remaining, it would have 
been dispelled by the blushing face of the butler 
as he discerned my then bandaged head. 

^T’ll have you fired out of this apartment house, 
you insolent rapscallion.” 


53 


54 


SILENCE. 


“Because I detected your crime is no reason why 
you should thirst for vengeance.” 

“What crime?” sneeringly. 

“Forbidden fruit, sir.” 

“Come now, this is no place for Biblical plati- 
tudes or parables.” 

“Then,” and I eyed him unflinchingly, “I accuse 
you of the most damnable and heinous offence 
against decent society, that of secret concupis- 
cence.” 

“Have you three been enjoying yourself?” asked 
Mrs. Cassaway as she returned and took up her 
cards. 

“Oh, yes, we’ve been rehearsing the days of our 
halcyon youth, friend Bangs and I,” lied he, as he 
busied himself with the score-board. 

“How still your husband is,” of Mr. Scencio. 

“He very often sits thus for hours at a time.” 

Involuntarily I leaned back and looked at the 
mysterious panoramic display on the shade belong- 
ing to the Woman in Purple. And a change had 
taken place. The lines that I had at flrst perceived 
still remained, yet there was another addition, a 
broken line about two feet from the last one, leav- 
ing the hitherto seen dark patch, broken into two 
unequal sizes. 

The playing became most desultory, and after 
awhile we mutually agreed to repair to the res- 


THE RUPTURE. 


55 


taurant in the basement and have refreshments. 

I noted that as Mrs. Scencio started toward her 
husband with the evident intention of asking him to 
accompany her, that he waved her away with his 
hand without even raising his eyes. So without 
him we descended in the elevator and had a most 
tempting luncheon served. 

^^By the way,’’ said Mrs. Cassaway, ^4s it not 
strange the way Cyrus’ case was dismissed this 
morning?” 

‘‘1 should say so. Yet,” and he stroked his mus- 
tache as he eyed his wife furtively, ‘‘1 believe that 
it would not be such a great surprise in the long 
run if (staring at me sharply) the man who had 
had the warrant sworn out for ^ Woman in Pur- 
ple’ would reveal the cause of his peculiar conduct, 
his strange modus operandi in having his best and 
only friend arrested for robbery.” 

^^And who was this man?” asked his wife, 
lawyer named Everett Bangs.” 

The knife dropped from my hand and my face 
grew hot and red ; the spoon fell from the trembling 
hand of Mrs. Scencio, and an ^^Oh” escaped the lips 
of Mrs. Cassaway, whilst the thrower of this bomb 
sat unperturbed in his seat and sipped his wine, as 
though he really enjoyed himself. 

Probably he did. I swear though that at that 


56 


SILENCE. 


moment I could have killed him with much show 
of relish and with little compunction. 

“You!” gasped Mrs. Scencio. 

“Ay, I,” and I prepared myself for defence, if 
such I had, if the hypnotic influence of a modern 
daughter of the offspring of Perseis could be 
deemed a palpable extenuation of a breach of be- 
trayed friendship. 

“You must be joking,” from Mrs. Cassaway. 

“I wish I were. Unfortunately, though, I am in 
earnest,” and then and there I confessed my sins 
and received absolution from both women, but not 
from the man. 

“The woman in question is a minx, a street hussy 
and ” 

“Wilburt!” 

The eyes he turned upon his wife were not the 
kind that a new husband is expected to lavish upon 
his betterhalf, neither were their gleam conducive 
to good feeling on my part as their scintillating 
pupils glared at me without stint, eyes that spoke 
of a bitter war to be fought between the two of us 
from this day forth. 

“Do you expect me to place any credence in such 
a fish-story?” he asked of me with much show of 
heat. 

“Why not?” 

“Because if you do you are mistaken in your 


THE RUPTURE. 


57 


man. Some sinister design, some incomprehensi- 
ble motive is at the bottom of your strange proce- 
dure. What’s this siren’s name?” 

“1 do not know.” 

'What!” 

"I have spoken the solemn truth.” 

"Truth fiddlesticks! You lawyers are skilled 
artists in the school of circumlocution.” 

"Neither mendacity nor paraphrastics have I 
been guilty of practicing upon my friends, or those 
purporting to be as such,” and I returned his look 
with accumulative interest. 

"This has gone far enough,” rising. "I do not 
care for your society nor your immediate contigu- 
ity to my residence, so it’s up to you to vacate this 
apartment house, seeing that I leased the suites 
and not you. It was only through Cyrus that you 
happened to come here in the first place.” 

In silence we returned to the Scencio’s apart- 
ment where I, with burning heart and storm-swept 
senses, lost myself for several minutes in the un- 
raveling of a shadow conundrum. 

Two new lines had been added, lines that had a 
wonderful suggestiveness to even me, who am but 
a prosaic lawyer. And Cyrus, in his selfsame pos- 
ture, moved not a muscle as he sat with his eyes 
fixed upon the curtain across the street. 

The whole eerie procedure was getting upon my 


58 


SILENCE. 


nerves. Probably because I could not come to a 
logical conclusion as to their intent. And the 
shadow-lines never moved an iota. Looking fixedly 
for several minutes I became startled by the dis- 
covery that the black shadow moved upwards by de- 
grees, slowly but surely, thus lengthening the 
strange lines upon the curtain. And, by heaven! 
a foot appeared silhouetted near the bottom of the 
curtain connecting with the main line. 

“Oh, I’m dreaming!” I heard myself say as I 
rubbed my eyes and turned them from the window. 

To have gazed upon the smiling faces of the two 
chatting women and Wilburt Oassaway, one would 
not have thought that I was a pariah, an outcast, 
and bidden to leave the premises. And the secret 
knowledge gleaned by me this night smote my 
.senses with white-heated shame and anger. Of 
Cyrus’ wife I knew next to nothing, of Wilburt’s 
very little more. Both were darlings of society, 
both were welcomed to the houses of the elite, and 
both were but lately married. One of them being 
the integral cause of her husband’s doting father 
disinheriting his son, the other seemingly in love 
with her chosen spouse, yet acting so compromis- 

ingly. 

To get away from the perplexing thoughts I re- 
turned my gaze to the spectral-like diagram across 
the street and watched the moving of the deeper 







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THE RUPTURE. 


59 


black dwindle into a narrow space, dwindle until 
it was but about sixteen inches in width. Then 
suddenly, without warning, the entire black space 
disappeared, to the topmost line was added an- 
other silhouette, and, believe me, I covered my face 
with my hands and blushed until the perspiration 
itched my scalp; for the complete silhouette was 
that of a nude woman, but what a figure! Never 
had I seen such splendidly proportioned limbs save 
in marble or on canvas. When I looked again, for 
look I had to, though the earth should have opened 
and swallowed me, I was struck dumb by the 
total disappearance of the figure, and in its place 
appeared the word ^Wenus.’’ 

For a moment I was deeply perplexed, then sud- 
denly I laughed until I was forced to make use of 
my handkerchief. And why? Simply because I 
had reasoned the entire procedure to a most logical 
conclusion. Either the Woman in Purple or some- 
body else was giving a stereopticon view of Greek 
statuary as known before the Christian era. And. 
what was most likely that in changing the focus 
of the lense the lines and the last, so fearfully 
realistic, had escaped the white scenic cloth 
usually used in such performances. 

And I was just wondering whether my friend had 
really been engaged in sketching, when his wife tip- 


60 


SILENCE. 


toed to where he sat and peered over his shoulder at 
his work. 

It is a well-known fact that an artist must have 
a living model to j)ose for his subject, and I dare 
say that Mrs. Scencio knew this to be so. Yet she 
went into a fit of anger on sight of his work. 

^^Cyrus!^’ snatching the drawing from his lap. 

^^Such vulgar drawings!’^ and she deliberately 

tore it into two halves. 

/ 

The pupils of his eyes lost themselves in his dark, 
melancholy orbs as he leaped to his feet in anger 
and amazement. 

What’s he been doing?” asked Wilburt, as he 
came to investigate the trouble between the newly- 
weds. 

^^She destroyed a beautiful conception of mine.” 

^^Let me see it,” and he took the two parts and 
spread them on the table. 

^^How can you look at such a sketch?” asked Mrs. 
Scencio of Wilburt’s wife. 

see absolutely nothing wrong in this work. 
The figure is marvelous, perfect.” 

^^You ought to blush with shame, Florence. Here, 
take the filthy thing,” handing it to Mrs. Scencio. 
who took it and tore it into a thousand infinitesi- 
mal parts and flung the scraps into the waste- 
basket. 

— I ” he choked for a moment with his all- 


THE RUPTURE. 


61 


consuming wrath. heaven ! 1^11 have the 

original for my model; Vll have her in the flesh, 
and I'll make my name immortal. To-morrow I 
resign from the art department of your father’s 
paper and resume my neglected profession, that of 
a painter. And I’ll live, too, if I have to leave these 
quarters and rent an attic in Harlem.” 

I myself admired his determination, though I 
doubted the issue. The man was a genius, a born 
manipulator of the brush and palette, but genius 
and no money will not help to keep an extravagant 
wife, will not help to keep a roof over one’s head, 
nor keep the larder fllled with the pleasing things 
of life. Perseverance, though, will do a lot. I my- 
self know of a case in Washington, D. 0., where a 
young man, whilst laboring at his chosen profes- 
sion, lived for four months and three weeks and flve 
days on the meagre allowance of flve cents a day. 
eating nothing in all that time save rye bread with 
molasses and water. But such heroic treatment 
soon saps the vitality and leaves a once healthy 
mind and body a physical and mental wreck. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 

It was with extreme reluctance that I vacated my 
bachelor suite and located myself — fortunately — 
right next door. I had a special object in being in 
as close proximity to my friend as possible. A 
suspicion that fed upon my thought would not 
down, and it is probably well that it did not, for 
otherwise a most dire calamity would surely have 
overtaken my artist chum. 

A moth will hover near a light nntil its wings 
are singed, and so with Cyrus, who not only 
scorched his heart but seared his soul until it was 
black as Satan’s. 

True to his night’s declaration he resigned his 
position as head of Wilburt Cassaway, Sr.’s, news- 
paper’s art department and hired a small stndio on 
Fourth Avenue, near Madison Square. But he had 
not as yet made any arrangements for the secnring 
of his much wanted model. How was he to act? 
He did not even know the woman’s name, abso- 
62 


THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 63 


lutely nothing knew he of this seductive siren, so 
terribly fascinating in her clinging dress of purple. 

The clerk in charge of the desk at the Apart- 
ment House could give no other information than 
that a Mr. Stewart, a real estate broker, had rented 
the apartments for six months for a friend of his 
sister’s, spicing his information with the irritating 
news that the woman was English, of royalty, and 
staying here incognito. The last named I believed, 
but I had my doubts as to the former. Just who 
she might be was a most perplexing mystery, and 
goaded me to further investigation. Stewart, the 
broker, could give me no clues whatever. His sis- 
ter was in Paris, and the woman herself seemed 
bent upon ignoring me in the future. 

I was standing at my window and looking out 
at the passersby, when a handsome team of pran- 
cing bays drove up to the apartments across the 
street. And I saw, too, something that provoked 
me to exasperation. Cyrus, with his chiseled 
beauty flushed with vehement excitement, ap- 
proached the footman, and as I bethought myself 
of the rascal’s nerve, the Woman in Purple 
emerged. 

^Tardon me,” lifting his hat and bowing before 
her. 

^^Sir!” with a haughty stare at the offending cul- 
prit. 


64 


SILENCE. 


Whether her anger was assumed or natural I, of 
course, could not say with any certainty. But the 
change upon her face was startling. The lobes of 
her shell-like ears were scarlet, her Grecian nos- 
trils were expanding and white as wax, her eyes 
shone like a basilisk’s as she surveyed the dumb- 
founded man before her. 

“Make way!” 

Burning with shame he stepped to one side. 

“Forgive me, madam,” and his imploring look 
would have melted an adamant heart. 

“Twenty-third street!” she called to the driver, 
and the next moment she was gone. 

He smote his fists in anger, and pulled at his 
mustache until his upper lip shone red. 

Spying me at the window he hailed me, and as I 
finally stood beside him on the sidewalk, he un- 
bosomed himself to me like a brother. 

“Did you notice my reception, Et’?” 

“Aye, I did.” 

“What thought you as she ignored my advance?” 

“That I might have made a mistake in my previ- 
ous deductions.” 

“And they were?” 

“That she was a minx.” 

“A what?” 

“Not exactly what one would expect of a real 
lady.” 


THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 65 


“And now?” 

“And now? Oh, I reverse my preconceived opin- 
ions and call her a lady of the first water variety.” 
“Keally?” 

“I am not joking.” 

“Did I deserve it?” 

“You certainly did, and more.” 

“I do not think so.” 

“No?” 

“No.” 

“And pray why?” 

“On account of other events.” 

“For instance?” 

“The shadow on the shade.” 

“Oh, you’re mistaken there.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“I do.” 

“What was it?” 

“A stereopticon view.” 

“Quite logical, eh?” laughing softly. 

“I think so.” 

“And my wife destroyed the sketch!” reminis- 
cently. “What would you say if I disagreed with 
you relative to the mysterious shadow on the cur- 
tain?” 

“You would have to give me a very palpable 
hypothesis, one that would bear investigation.” 
“Which I will be able to do in the very near 


66 


SILENCE. 


future, provided, of course, that I do not err in my 
present calculations.” 

“And they are?” eyeing him sharply. 

“That the Woman in Purple will be my model.” 

“Whew!” and I whistled softly. 

“The shadow on the shade was the natural out- 
line of her nude body.” 

“Stop!” 

“Look here,” angrily. “I know what I am talk- 
ing about. I saw that identical figure before, ye.s, 
no longer than yesterday in my private office,” 
and then and there he related to me his experiencQ 
with the mysterious woman. 

I said nothing as he asked me to enter his apart- 
ment where we expected to talk about the future 
prospects of his anticipated success as a painter. 
But this looked-for dialogue was rudely dispelled 
on entering his parlor. 

“I wonder where my wife could have gone?” and 
he proceeded to go through the rooms on a hunt 
for Mrs. Scencio. 

“Did you leave her here when you left several 
minutes ago?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you inform her as to your destination?” 

“I did. Why? 

“May I not ask all sorts of foolish questions?” 

“What in the devil’s name are you driving at, 


THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 67 


Et’?” and he took a hold of my shoulders and 
turned my face toward the light. 

“Where did you say that you were hound for?” 

“To my studio.” 

“And were you?” 

“Yes. But the woman across the street came 
between my destination and my purpose.” 

“Sit down,” shoving him into a chair and seat- 
ing myself across the table from him. 

“What has caused your present agitation?” 

“Do I appear unduly excited?” I asked, as I en- 
deavored to still my madly running nerves. 

“You certainly do.” 

“Cyrus, you are a good fellow, but somewhat 
contumacious.” 

“Thanks,” dryly, lighting a cigarette. 

“You married against your better judgment and 
my advice.” 

He looked at me narrowly but vouchsafed no re- 
sponse. 

“You married a woman of whom you knew 
nothing.” 

No answer, but dense puffs of pungent smoke. 

“Cyrus, beware, you are harboring a viper in 
your bosom.” 

“A viper?” 

“Yes, one that will sting you behind your back, 
rob you of the trust reposed in the fidelity and vir- 


68 


SILENCE. 


tue of ” I could not finish what I had planned 

to break in a roundabout manner. 

“My wife?” hoarsely. 

“Aye, your wife,” I echoed, frightened at the ter- 
rible glint in his eyes and the rasping of his voice. 

“By heaven!” and he smote his clenched fist on 
the table as he glared at me as if preparing for a 
spring upon my throat. 

“Do you see that?” 

“What?” turning his head slightly. 

“That gray-looking object on the settee there?” 
still pointing my trembling hand toward it. 

The chair flew from under him as he shot to his 
feet in a convulsive burst of anger. 

“Damn it !” and he swore lustily as he fished out 
a man’s gray walking glove. 

“Could you find the owner?” 

“If I could I’d grind his bones to powder.” 

“You have been married less than three months 
and yet you are unhappy and miserable.” 

“Yes. I confess it, Et’.” 

“How did Wilburt Cassaway act during your 
joint honeymoon?” 

His eyes grew large with surprise, the perspira- 
tion began to set in great beads upon bis high 
brow as he cramped the glove in his gnarled fist. 

“Do you think — Oh! it cannot be.” 

“Why not?” 


THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 69 


“For heaven’s sake, Et’, remember what you are 
about.” 

“It is because I have your welfare at heart that 
I am placing myself in this painful position in or- 
der to open your eyes to the true state of affairs, 
not that I would cause you any pangs of unnec- 
essary remorse, believe me.” 

“Wait here just one moment, please,” and he 
left the room, whilst I drummed upon the table 
with my fingers and fought the silent battle within 
my raging soul. 

Presently he returned, but not alone. W’ith 
him was Mrs. Oassaway, blanched face and tear- 
stained eyes looked appealingly first at Cyrus and 
then at me. 

“Now,” as she seated herself, “where is your hus- 
band?” 

“I think he went to the bank, but I am not posi- 
tive.” 

“Can you identify this article?” showing her the. 
glove. 

Her face blushed crimson, then paled to a deadly 

gray- 

“It is Wilburt’s,” she whispered in awe. 

“I thought so. I found it over there,” pointing to 
the settee. 

“Oh!” and she clasped her delicate hands to her 
breast and began to shake with sobs. 


70 


SILENCE. 


“Why, hello!” said a laughing voice, and the 
next moment a frightened gasp escaped Mrs. Scen- 
cio who, dressed in her street costume, had entered 
unannounced. 

“What has happened, dear?” going up to Cyrus, 
who repulsed her with a gesture of the hand. 

“One moment, please.” 

The glove was lying on the table, and spying it 
her face went white with fright. 

“Have you seen this article before?” handing her 
the glove. 

“It is not yours, is it?” assuming an attitude of 
nonchalance that was a flat failure. 

“You are aware that it is not mine.” 

“Then why do you ask me such a nonsensical 
question ?” 

He bit his lips as he tried to stem the rising tor- 
rent of denunciatory words. 

“I found it on the settee and wondered who the 
owner was, seeing that it did not belong to me.” 

“And how came it there?” 

“That is what I command you to answer.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you!” 

“Well sir, seeing that you were in and I out, it is 
for you to say who the owner may be,” wherewirh 
she proceeded to take off her hat and veil and lay 
them on the table. 


THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 71 


“Mrs. Oassaway, you identify this glove as be- 
longing to whom?” 

“My — ^hus — band’s.” 

Something akin to a stifled gasp slipped through 
the compressed lips of Mrs. Scencio as she heard 
her friend announce the owner of the glove. 

“I have hunted the rooms for the scoundrel, but 
he appears to have made good his escape. But 
he’ll come home to-night and, then, well I’ll not say 
in advance what’s in store for the scoundrel.” 

“You talk as if you were drunk, Cyrus.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yes. And your talk is most insulting.” 

“I’ve been a cat’s-paw, a cat’s-paw for you and 
that profligate whelp, do you hear?” 

“How dare you, sir !” 

“Dare!” he shouted, springing toward her and 
gripping her hands. 

“I’ll ” 

“You’ll release the woman, sir, at once!” 

I spun around and stared in consternation at the 
red face of Wilburt Oassaway, Sr. 

“I resigned with honor from your paper, so what 
do you want here, here in my private apartment?” 

“So you did, but you left something at my es- 
tablishment.” 

“I?” 

“Yes, you.” 


72 


SILENCE. 


‘‘And what was it?” 

“Your honor and respect.” 

I saw the shame light his face and eyes at this 
assertion which was both true and known. 

“Oh, if I were but dead, dead!” moaned Mrs. 
Cassaway, Jr., as she wrung her hands in abject 
grief. 

The look in the old gentleman’s eyes was a study 
in psychology. He vacillated between the desire 
to be deaf to the intense agony of his daughter-in- 
law and between his desire of fondling her in his 
arms and soothing her troubled soul. 

And I becoming closer and closer woven in the 
ramifications of this domestic tragedy, ground my 
heel in simon-pure rage and anger. I cared not an 
iota for the woman, I cared less for the son of tiiis 
aged millionaire, I cared the world for the man 
whom I called my chum, and whom I could not 
save nor protect. 

“The woman there, who is she?” 

“As you surmise, sir, your son’s wife,” and I 
perceived a fiendish glee light the dark sombre 
eyes of Cyrus as he glared at the old gentleman 
who was fighting twin emotions in a most tumul- 
tuous heart. 

“Florence Esty?” 

“Yes,” and she sobbed convulsively with her 
head buried in her hands on the table. 


THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 73 


“Child, child !” and he staggered halfway toward 
her, then stopped abruptly. 

“You! You!” and she choked with rising sobs 
as she endeavored to speak to the man who had 
disinherited her husband. 

“Daughter!” and he opened his arms to receive 
the woman. 

I turned my face to the wall as she flew to his 
outstretched arms ; I cursed in low, articulate gasps 
as I bethought myself of the renegade who was tied 
to her for life; I tore my hair in frenzy as I saw 
the future unrolled in the perspective wherein the 
figure of my artist friend struggled between the 
belching fires of hell’s passion, lust and incest. 

‘^What is the meaning of this domestic drama?” 
I ? asked of Cyrus when he had succeeded in some- 
W'hat stilling the wild sobbing of his son’s wife. 

“Your son’s an unmitigated scoundrel.” 

“That I’ll not argue.” 

“And the first time I face him I am going to 
shoot him.” 

“You are what?” 

“I am going to kill him.” 

“My son Wilburt?” 

“Him, and no other.” 

“I though? that you two were friends,” he said 
helplessly as he held the woman to his breast with 
strained muscles and quaking hands. 


74 


SILENCE 


“Friends! No. A man who will rupture the re- 
lations between man and wife is no friend, but a 
fiend.” 

“Is it not time that you ceased your remarks, 
Cyrus?” 

“What is your husband driving at, Mrs. Scen- 
cio?” 

“I am driving at this,” stepping up to the old 
man and shaking his fist in the latter’s face. “In- 
trigue, vice and crime has taken place under the 

sanctity of my roof. Your son has been Well, 

I guess you know what I mean without my shock- 
ing the sensitive natures of the women present.” 

“You brute!” and he raised his fist as if to 
strike Cyrus. 

“Strike!” and he folded his arms and stared 
without the bat of an eyelash for fully two min- 
utes at the dumbfounded father of Wilburt. 

“I found his glove in my room; other things of 
late have had a tendency to rouse my suspicions 
and, if my friend Bangs would but open his mouth 
and reveal certain secrets that he holds, I am posi- 
tive that I would be granted an absolute divorce 
in ten minutes, were I to apply for one.” 

“You will have to come home with me, dear,” 
stroking his daughter-in-law’s glossy hair. 

“Oh, if I were but dead!” she wailed afresh as 
she clung to him in this her first great sorrow. 


THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 75 


“No; she won’t.” 

“And why not?” 

“Because I intend to see her husband first, and if 
she should leave and take up her quarters at your 
residence, it is a foregone conclusion that her scala- 
wag husband will not be seen in this immediate 
■vicinity for some time to come.” 

“You impudent rogue!” 

“Cyrus !” 

“Sist!” from me as I heard a soft voice in the 
hall ask to be shown to the suite occupied by the 
Scencios. 

There was a knock upon the panels of the door, 
all the actors of this strange domestic drama, save 
Cyrus, hastened to a seat and, with a “Come in!” 
from my friend, the door opened, and the Woman 
in Purple entered. 

I cannot describe her smile, for it is beyond the 
pen of mortal man to do it justice. Cyrus prob- 
ably could reproduce its likeness on canvas, but 
the pen, never. 

And what of the enslaved man’s look? To the 
tips of his fingers he trembled, his eyes glowed with 
the unmistakable glow of admiration, the kind that 
is so far removed from a moral and conscientious 
husband. 

“Pardon me,” stepping backwards as if prepara- 


76 


SILENCE 


tory to a hasty exit, thought that you and your 
wife were alone.’^ 

^^You are not intruding/^ and Cyrus helped her 
to a seat. 

came on an humble mission, sir, that of ob- 
taining your pardon for my error.’’ 

^^Oh !” and he laughed heartily, ^4s that what you 
seek?” 

^^Yes. Are you aware of the fact, Mr. Scencio, 
that you have an exact counterpart?” 

^^No. This is news.” 

^Well, you have,” smiling sweetly at Cyrus and 
his wife, ^^and it is he who caused me to act so 
hasty.” 

^^No harm was done, I assure you. Mr. Cassa- 
V7ay, this is a new acquaintance of ours, a most de* 
lightful acquisition to our host of friends, I as- 
sure you.” 

^^Delighted, delighted,” and he must have been 
so, judging from the way he strutted as he shook 
her tapering hand. 

What struck me as most ludicrous was that each 
of us were introduced, yet none, not one of us knew 
the lady’s name, nor for that matter did the intro- 
ducer. 

And Florence Cassaway appeared to forget all 
her present sorrow as she conversed with this most 
fascinating woman. All appeared to be enjoying 


THE TRAGEDY OF A GRAY GLOVE. 77 


the newcomer’s bewitching personality save the 
wife of Cyrus, who frowned her disfavor and dis- 
approval with a most provoking candor. 

^^Yes,” I heard the musical voice say to Cyrus, ^4t 
is dangerous. These walking doubles are prone to 
get one in more or less trouble, especially is this so 
when one happens to be married.” 

‘A agree with you. Miss , Miss ,” and 

the old gentleman stuttered and stumbled in his 
speech, but none of us could help him ; and, 
as the woman seemed bent upon withholding 
her identity, Cyrus hastened to cover the threaten- 
ing breach by saying : 

^^Mr. Cassaway is right. Suppose now that my 
wife happened to discover my double in the delight- 
ful act of osculation; say that some modern Helen 
should be lavishing her affections upon this double 
of mine, then what? I should be accused of in- 
fidelity, immorality and what not, though I were as 
innocent as a babe.” 

should love to see such a catastrophe,” where- 
upon everybody laughed, even Mrs. Scencio, though 
I judged hers to be not exactly of the healthy sort. 

And forthwith the conversation became general 
in its topic ; no impinged shadows rose to stare at 
the individual actors; happiness and good cheer 
seemed to be each person’s chief asset as the seconds 
ran into minutes and the minutes into the hour. 


78 


SILENCE 


And then, as the laughter became the merriest, I 
asked myself this question: Where was Wilburt 
Oassaway, Jr? 


OHAPTEE VI. 


WHEN CONSCIENCE DIED. 

The rays of a setting sun shone through the large 
window and revealed to good advantage the cop- 
per-burnished tresses of my lady in purple; and 
later, when the electric bulbs overhead were lighted, 
it enhanced the exquisite loveliness of her alabaster- 
like face, neck and arms, until the menfolks became 
enamored of her seductive beauty. 

I noted, too, after an hour’s conversation, that 
she had a slight foreign accent, but not English. 
To me it sounded as if Italian, though the woman 
lacked all the physical attributes of a daughter of 
sunny Italy. 

Here were three charming women, and as dia- 
metrically different in status, color and person- 
ality as could possibly be brought together in a 
drawing-room. Each possessed an especial at- 
tractiveness either in facial contour, eyes or figure. 
Set them in a crowded gathering and they would 
draw instant attention. Yet here in the room but 


79 


80 


SILENCE 


one shone pre-eminently, but one held the pivotal 
point of attention, and she was the Woman in 
Purple. 

‘‘You must have had some kind of an entertain- 
ment in your apartments last night?” I heard Cy- 
rus ask of her as he watched her narrowly as she 
spoke. 

“Yes. But pray how do you know?” 

“Occular demonstration.” 

“How could you possibly have seen the enter- 
tainment when the shades were tightly drawn?” 

“How about the possibility of reflective silhou- 
ettes on the curtain from time to time?” 

“And did you see anything?” 

“I certainly did.” 

“Some friends of mine gave a stereopticon ex- 
hibition, one that was most instructive, especially 
to lovers of true art.” 

I laughed softly as I perceived the dark frown 
set upon the brow of Cyrus and enjoyed his dis- 
comfiture of mind, for this unexpected announce- 
ment from the woman herself, coinciding so beau- 
tifully with my previous asseverations relative to 
the fantastic lines on the shade, nonplused the 
somewhat egotistical artist and overset all of his 
well laid plans. 

“By the way,” said Mrs. Scencio, “I have had a 
luncheon ordered in the restaurant, the private 


WHEN CONSCIENCE DIED 


81 


dining-room, so let us do it justica Mr. Cassa- 
way, you lead the way with Florence.” 

“Pardon me,” said my lady in purple as she rose, 
“but I must really excuse myself, for I had hut 
just dined as I entered.” 

Mrs. Scencio had possessed herself of my arm, 
and as the woman excused herself so adroitly, I 
heard my companion heave an inaudible sigh of 
relief. However, she received a rude shock the 
next moment from her spouse. 

“Ef,” addressing me, “you escort my wife to the 
dining-room and do your level best at entertaining 
her and her friends. I’ve no desire to eat, in fact 
I could not if I would. I will remain and talk 
with our new acquaintance here until you all re- 
turn.” 

“Oh, but I must be going, Mr. Scencio, for I 
have an important engagement at the Savoy 
Theatre.” 

“Won’t you inspect some of my early work?” and 
ho busied himself with a large portfolio containing 
several dozens of paintings of a nondescript nature, 
as his wife, seething with anger, repaired <:o the 
dining-room to act as hostess for his nonplused 
friends. 

“Now,” and Cyrus closed the door, threw the 
portfolio on the floor and stood directly in front of 
the woman. “Now ” 


82 


SILENCE 


“You appear excited,^ Mr, Scencio,” half shading 
lier liquid eyes with her drooping eyelashes as she 
gazed into his flushed face. 

“Who and what are you, madam?” 

“Miss, if you please,” toying with her thousand- 
dollar purse. 

“May I ask your name?” 

“Silence.” 

“I hear nothing,” after a pause. 

“Neither do I, except your silver voice.” 

“Quite a superlative compliment,” laughing 
softly. 

“And do you not appreciate it?” 

“Most assuredly.” 

For a moment he meditated as he studied the 
sylph-like outline of her flgure, speculating and 
conjecturing as to whether she were an actress, a 
model or a Society dame from some European 
court. 

“You paid me a visit at my oflBice yesterday. 
Why?” 

“Me?” innocently, 

“Yes.” 

“You must be in error, sir.” 

“The shadow on the shade last night was what?” 

“A stereopticon view.” 

“Why deal in paraphrastics and mendacity?” 

“Why speculate about a trifle?” 


WHEN CONSCIENCE DIED 


83 


“Why cloak yourself in impenetrable mystery?” 

“Why rack your brains for nothing?” 

Up and down the room he paced in a wild en- 
deavor to drown the ascending words of vitupera- 
tive expletives as the woman sat in silence, a faint 
perceptible smile hovering at the corners of her 
rosy mouth. 

“I want you for a model!” spinning around on 
one heel and eyeing her intensely. 

“Me?” opening her eyes in astonishment. 

“You.” 

“Why, I could not pose if I tried,” and she 
laughed merrily as he bit his netherlip in vexation, 
for, unquestionably the woman was stringing him. 

“You said that you had posed for the world’s 
greatest artists, for painters and sculptors.” 

“You seem to be joking, Mr. Scencio,” aggriev- 
edly, as she lowered her eyes and fixed them on 
the points of her peeping pomps. 

“You have haunted me in my sleep, shattered my 
nerves and changed me to a driveling idiot.” 

“Then I had better be going,” rising slowly. 

“Stand !” 

The spasmodic twitch of her netherlip may have 
denoted fear, it may, too, have signalized triumph 
— who knows? 

“Am I not under the protection and roof of a 
gentleman?” 


84 


SILENCE 


“You are.” 

“Then why do you speak to me so rudely?” 

“First you lead me on, then repulse me. Why? 
What is the underlying motive of your strange pro- 
cedure?” 

“You speak in riddles, sir.” 

“Do I?” 

“Most undoubtedly.” 

“This morning you repulsed me with scorn and 
contempt.” 

“You?” opening her eyes to their fullest extent. 

“Come now, this farce has gone the limit.” 

“This is the first meeting between you and I 
since the court room incident, believe me. Your 
counterpart insulted me this morning by address- 
ing me unsolicited.” 

“And the scene in the privacy of my office yes- 
terday?” 

“I went there as I was in duty bound to do, to 
apologize.” 

“And the model business?” 

“Was an illusioned spectacle. Metaphysics was 
at the bottom of it, sir. You dreamed certain im- 
probable things, for instance: The disrobing of a 
beautiful woman in the privacy of your sanctum, 
did you not?” 

“Well, I’ll be eternally damned!” and he swore 
profusely under his breath as he stood before the 


WHE^N CONSCIENCE DIED 


85 


window for several moments in a quandary of 
doubt and perplexity. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Silence.” 

“Sist!” and he held his hand up for a moment 
and listened. 

“What was it?” 

“It sounded to me like a smothered sneeze from 
a man, probably in the corridor,” and after a lapse 
of several minutes he seated himself beside her and 
took one of her hands in his. 

“Did you hear anything suspicious?” 

“No. I heard absolutely nothing,” and her eyes 
shone like twin stars as she sat there with her right 
hand in his hot grip, speculating as to the ulti- 
mate outcome of her machinations. 

“And your name?” 

“Silence.” 

For one solitary moment he felt like cursing, 
then reaction set in and he laughed boisterously. 

“You’re a strange creature, and beautiful, ye 
gods! What a picture for my Venus-to-be!” 

“Then you are really engaged in painting the 
goddess of beauty and love?” 

“I am.” 

“And who’s your model?” 

“The most beautiful, full-blooded woman in New. 
York.” 


86 


SILENCE 


‘‘How wonderful!” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“And what’s her name?” 

“Unfortunately she hasn’t any, at least I have 
not discovered it. Probably she dropped from the 
heavens.” 

“How delightfully you put it. And has this 
paragon of beauty with the immortal gods as her 
ancestors, posed for you yet?” 

“Yes.” 

“Eeally now?” 

“I’m not joking.” 

“And what was the result?” 

“I was blinded, paralyzed, struck dumb and mo- 
tionless by the terrible beauty of her roseate flesh.” 

“You shock me, Mr. Scencio,” turning her head 
to one side. 

“Why so? Have I said anything offensive?” 

“Well, not exactly offensive, but but ” 

“What is it?” 

“Your suggestiveness.” 

“In what respect?” 

“Why you seemed to imply that the woman stood 
before you in all her — let us call it — classic nu- 
dity.” 

“So she did.” 

“Then I am trebly shocked.” 

“Then Miss Miss ” 


WHEN CONSCIENCE DIED 


87 


^^Call me Silence.’^ 

^^All right/’ laughing, ^^have it your way. I’ll 
call you ^Silence’ hereafter, and if it should cause 
you any annoyance in the future, remember that 
you and not I am to blame.” 

will not quarrel over the name.” 

^^As I was going to say. Miss Silence, a woman 
in posing for an artist ” 

^^Must disrobe?” 

^^Not in all cases. In the study of Venus now 
it is most imperative that an artist catch the sym- 
metrical outline of the body ; and how could he do 
so if the woman were dressed?” 

^^But the shame of it, sir, the shame!” 

^^There is no mock modesty in art, believe me.” 

^^I cannot bring myself to believe it.” 

^^Why doubt me? The question of Sex is lost 
entirely, submerged, so to speak, when art is con- 
cerned. In the art schools where young men and 
women have their training, those who elect to make 
the human form divine their special study have live 
models to pose for them.” 

^^But not the men and women in the same class?” 

''Yes.” 

"And do the men pose too?” 

"Most assuredly.” 

"And and,” turning her golden head to one 

side and talking in a very low voice, "do they, too, 


88 


SILENCE 


pose in all their virginal beauty?” 

“They do. One day there may he a woman pos- 
ing, the next a man. It all depends upon the fancy 
of the instructor.” 

“How shocking!” 

“To the layman probably, but not to an artist.” 

“Have you made any material headway with 
your Venus?” 

“I have and I haven’t.” 

“Which means?” 

“That it is in a semi-embryonic condition. The 
conception is good, the woman’s beauty of figure is 
perfect, divinely so, but there is something lacking, 
wanting, to make the project a success.” 

“And it is?” 

“The woman’s willingness to pose.” 

“How strange you speak. Just a few moments 
ago you gave me to understand that you had se- 
cured her for your model.” 

“So she gave me to understand.” 

“Then why not hold her to her avowal?” 

‘Ht takes two to make a contract.” 

“Aren’t you and her two?” 

“Only in the abstract.” 

“You artists have a queer way of thinking and 
expressing yourselves.” 

“I am more than willing for the lady in question 
to pose for my Venus; aye, I am upon the point of 


whe:n conscience died 


89 


hysterics, fearing that she should continue to deny 
her avowed intention of posing for the picture she 
herself has suggested.” 

“Then hold her to your project.” 

“How can I?” 

“By force of will pow'er.” 

“It has utterly failed.” 

“By coercion.” 

“May as well assay to scale the rocky heights of 
Mount Popocatepetl.” 

“Have you tried persuasion?” 

“Yes, but only in an indirect manner.” 

“Do you doubt the issue of a direct application?” 

“If I did not I certainly would have tried it ere 
this.” 

“You do not believe that flattery would help 
your cause?” 

“Decidedly no. Where a mirror is the daily evi- 
dence of supernatural beauty, flattery would have 
but an empty pressure toward the attainment of 
my heart.” 

“The case is not as bad as you would have me 
believe. There are a thousand ways that you may 
use in gaining the object of your aspiration.” 

“For instance?” 

“Love.” 

“Love?” 

“Yes. Let it be the kind that storms the heart 


90 


SILENCE 


with consecutive assaults upon its defences; let it 
swoop upon the soul with its most searing fire; 
let it fasten itself upon the object of its attainment 
and suck the vitals of Eesistance until love begets 
love, and feasts upon the spoils of Cupid’s glow- 
ing spread.” 

Slowly, almost spasmodically, he rose to his feet 
and retreated half way across the room, his lips 
drawn until they showed but a white line across 
his face. 

The woman, too, appeared to have undergone a 
radical change. Her bosom heaved tumultuously, 
her face was scarlet, whilst her eyes radiated with 
the gleam of passion, tense and strong. 

^^You you suggest ” 

^^Nothing, absolutely nothing,” and she rose, 
walked over to the mantle where hung a four-by- 
ten-foot oil painting and pretended to be lost in the 
study of its well-depicted forest scenery. 

And he, battling with the fire of aroused passion, 
swore beneath his breast as he watched the object 
of his cankerous thoughts and planned a conquest| 
the like of which was rampant when Christianity 
was unheard of and Civilization slept in Limbo. 

There is an indefinable something between a man 
and a woman when their respective natures waken 
to the responsive blend of reciprocity. Paradoxical 
as it may appear to some people, there is such a 


WHEN CONSCIENCE DIED 


91 


thing as an instantaneous feeling of reciprocal af- 
fection, brought to light by the silent touch of the 
hand or even the glance of an eye. 

And Cyrus, standing there in the throes of his 
silent battle, knew that he was doomed to the sla- 
very of this siren, knew that he was lost, so far as 
the salvation of his honor and respect were con- 
cerned. He felt the premonition of impending evil 
before her advent, he had heard the warning cry of 
his Conscience when his friends had gone to dine; 
aye, he knew at this precise moment that he was to 
drown in the engulfing waters of unholy fascina- 
tion and surging infatuation. 

“Woman!” he shouted in a strident voice as he 
sprang toward her in wild, accelerated haste. 

“Help !” and she leaped upon a chair as if fright- 
ened at the fearful aspect and mien of the man with 
his knotted fists that shook as with the palsy. 

For a moment there was silence, sepulchral eeri- 
ness as these two confronted each other. The 
woman upon the chair and the fire-lit man before 
her presented a lasting impression upon one’s mind. 
Savage lust shone from the artist’s eyes, a lioness- 
like admiration masked the woman’s face as she 
looked down at the classical beauty of the man, 
now marred by the sting of biting and implacable 
passion. 

“You frightened me, sir,” revealing the most 


92 


SILENCE 


beautiful set of pearly teeth ever seen in the mouth 
of a mortal woman. 

He made no answer, but gritted his teeth as he 
faced the enchantress of his heart and soul. 

“Are you trying my advice upon me?” laughing 
softly. 

“You are mine, mine!” glaring at her with evil 
light in his dark orbs. “And by the eternal heav- 
ens!” and he tried first to mount the chair, and, 
being repulsed, to drag her from it with equal suc- 
cess. 

“You appear most uncouth and rough iu your 
strenuous wooing, sir.” 

“You drive me to the verge of desperation and of 
murder.” 

“Then you must love like a brute.” 

“Please forgive me,” and he knelt on one knee 
and held his hands toward her in a most entreat- 
ing manner. “Forgive me, dear.” 

“If you are real good,” eyeing him lovingly, 
“you may pluck a delicious rose from your model’s 
lips.” 

Upon the seat he leaped, the woman’s waist he 
circled with one hand and her lips he devoured with 
a long, lingering kiss that burnt into his soul like 
liquid fire. 

And, with a ringing oath that sounded like the 
report of a gun, the table flew against the wall, and, 


WHEIf CONSCIENCE DIED 


93 


in the center of the room there stood, divested of 
coat, vest and collar, the erstwhile missing Wilburt 
Cassawaj, Jr. 


CHAPTER VII. 


UNMASKING A VILLAIN. 

The lingering silence was heartrending. The 
man and woman on the chair, and the disheveled 
man in the centre of the room, were speechless. 
She clung to him in trembling fear and agitation; 
he held her to his bosom with giant arms as the 
cyclonic forces of his hot Southern blood ploughed 
through his veins like molten lava. Then, sudden- 
ly, his hands released the woman; with eyes that 
coruscated like the lamps of Hell and riveted upon 
the man who had worn the lamb’s wool, he stepped 
from the chair and, imitating the noiseless tread of 
a mountain cat, proceeded to approach his enemy. 

“Halt!” and a pistol glinted in the light as 
Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., jerked it from his hip 
pocket and leveled it at the approaching man 
possessed of seven devils. 

The woman let a cry of terror escape her lips, 
then covered her eyes and swayed in horror. 

“Another step and I fire!” and the pistol was 


UNMASKING A VILLAIN. 


95 


cocked for instant action; yet on, on, crept the 
avenging Nemesis like the mighty roll of a rag- 
ing sea, the veins upon his knuckles black and 
blue, the ligaments of his muscles drawn to such 
a tension until they must have snapped in an- 
other moment. 

“One!” and the finger on the trigger of death 
trembled with excitement. 

“Two !” the voice was hoarse and husky, and the 
man, but three feet from the gun, said not a word, 
though his eyes, transformed to basilisks, did vol- 
umes. 

“Three!” 

“Murder! Help! Murder!” and the woman 
leaped from the chair and sprang to the side of 
Wilburt Cassaway, clutching the death-dealing 
weapon. 

“Away!” and Cyrus fiung her from the other’s 
side with one sweep of his massive arm. 

“Oh God! God!” she wailed as she fell on her 
knees and wrung her hands in agony. 

The hot breath of Cyrus blew into the other’s 
face, his eyes glared into the equally ferocious 
ones of his antagonist, yet the pistol pressed 
against his breast did not explode its missile of 
destruction. 

“Shoot, you scoundrel!” and the clink of Cyrus’ 


96 


SILENCE 


teeth sounded through the room like the snapping 
jaws of a raging brute. 

The deadly silence which followed was intense 
in its foreboding. For one full minute the men 
stood like graven images, their murderous eyes 
trying to read the other’s thoughts. 

Then, quicker than the flash of light Cyrus’s 
hand caught the other’s holding the pistol, there 
was a loud report, a terrible cry of terror from 
the woman, and then the smoke obscured the 
scene for several seconds and brought fresh ac- 
tors to the scene in the shape of Mr. Cassaway, Sr., 
his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Scencio and myself. 

“Cyrus!” called I, groping through the smoke, 
and in doing so I ran against something soft. 

“Where are you, Mr. Bangs?” called the elder 
Cassaway. 

“Here, over towards the window. There’s 
somebody lying on the floor, and, in heaven’s 
name, it’s a woman ! either dead or in a swoon.” 

He came to my side, and together we lifted an 
inanimate form in our arms. 

The smoke disappeared through the window 
which Mrs. Scencio had the presence of mind to 
open, and in utter consternation we stared at 
the scene before us. 

In the centre of the room stood Cyrus and Wii- 
burt Cassaway, Jr., the latter holding a still 


UNMASKIl^G A VILLAIN. 


97 


smoking pistol with one hand, whilst the other 
was fastened upon the throat of Cyrus who,, with 
one hand over his antagonist’s pistol and the 
other likewise gripping the other’s throat, stood 
in silence as he faced his would-be murderer. 

With a cry of agony Mrs. Cassaway fainted in 
the arms of Mrs. Scencio. And as Mr. Cassaway, 
Sr., discerned the posture of his son, he hastened 
me to the divan where we deposited the flaccid 
body of the mysterious woman, and strode up to 
Cyrus. 

^What do you mean by this scene, sir?” 

^‘It’s none of your business,” came the sharp 
retort. 

^^I’ll have you arrested for attempted murder.” 

A sudden unexpected wrench, and the pistol 
left young Cassaway’s hand and found itself in 
that of Cyrus’. 

^^If any arrest is to be made for attempted mur- 
der, I’m afraid that you will be compeUed to have 
your own son arrested, seeing that it is his pis- 
tol that threatened me.” 

With a moan the strange woman came to, 
leaped to her feet and surveyed Cyrus from head 
to foot. 

^^Are you not hurt?” excitedly, as she came to- 
ward him in haste. 

^^No. But please go, go!” 


98 


SILENCE 


I was somewhat surprised that she obeyed him 
so readily, but later found out why she did so. 

As the door closed after her Cyrus spoke: 

“This is your son, sir, the scoundrel who has 
betrayed my trust and friendship and alienated 
the affection of my wife.” 

“You, Wilburt?” and the poor old man gasped 
in consternation as he divided his eyes between 
his son’s face and that of Mrs. Scencio’s. 

I hurried for a tumbler of water and revived 
Mrs. Cassaway, who, the moment she returned to 
consciousness, sprang to her husband and tried 
to cling to him for protection and consolation, but 
he would have none of her. 

“Do not touch me !” brushing her from him. 

“By heaven!” and the old gentleman looked 
for his cane. “I’ll break every bone in your body, 
you whelp, if you do not treat your innocent wife 
with more respect.” 

“And if I catch you in these rooms again. I’ll 
smother you with death, do you hear?” 

“Cyrus!” 

“And you,” facing his wife, “you I’ll divorce, yes, 
divorce to-day, this moment, you hussy!” 

“Sir !” from the elder Cassaway. 

“You, you’d interfere in my domestic business! 
Get out of here, for I’ve had enough of the Cas- 
saway family for one day.” 


VNMASKING A VILLAIN. 


99 


^^Yet you haven’t seen the last of this one.” 

^^You!” clenching his fists, as the younger Cas- 
sawav strode up to him. 

^^Yes, me. Pose as a martyr, a saint, before 
the public, your wife and your friends, but don’t 
try such tactics on me.” 

^^What do you mean?” 

^^Just this: You’re a nauseating cesspool of eviL 
a moral leper saturated with infidelity and all 
its accursed accoutrements. How about the kiss 
of raging fire? How about the woman who was 
here but a few minutes ago, your darling Miss 
Silence, eh?” sneering sardonically as he sprung 
this unexpected trap. 

^^I’ll kill you !” 

^HJpon my invitation only,” and the two men 
eyed each other like vultures. 

^^You who bear my name, I discard you, for 
you’re viler than the concubines of Mephistoph- 
eles.” 

^^For the Lord’s sake, Cyrus, where’s your man- 
hood?” 

^^Shut up, Bangs, for you’re but a silent wit- 
ness, nothing more.” 

“I’ll take her and treat her human,” whereupon 
Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., started to advance to- 
ward the ostracised woman, only to be stopped 
by his father and Cyrus. 


100 


SILENCE 


“No, you won’t!” and he stepped between his 
wife and the man. “You’ll not have her, nor 
anybody else for that matter, not whilst life is 
mine.” 

“You reprobate! What about your own inno- 
cent wife?” 

“She’s about as much comfort and satisfaction 
to me as a stick or stone.” 

‘Wou cur!” 

“What the devil does it matter to you anyway 
whether I live with her or not? Did you not dis- 
inherit me and turn me adrift because I married 
against your wish?” 

“Suppose 1 were to inform you that I have re- 
scinded and taken the young woman to my heart, 
then what?” 

“The intelligence would come too late.” 

“Daughter,” pressing the sobbing woman to 
his breast, “you are wasting your tears upon a 
soulless villain, a scoundrel vile as hell, and, un- 
fortunately, my only son.” 

“What were you doing under the table in your 
shirt sleeves, answer me?” 

“Do you really want to hear the reason?” 

“I do.” 

“Then listen; I spent several hours in a 
cramped position in order to find out certain 


UNMASKING A VILLAIN. 


101 


facts. For some time past you have been inat- 
tentive to your wife.” 

“You lie!” 

Like bestial fiends they sprang for each other, 
and, in keeping them apart, my face came in con- 
tact with the fiaying fists of my friend with such 
stunning force that I actually flew against the 
opposite wall. 

“You’re a brute !” 

“And you’re a scoundrel!” 

“And you’re enamored with the minx across 
the street. I saw her yesterday disrobe before 
you in your private office. What else happened 
I cannot say for the curtains were drawn. But I 
can guess.” 

“Damn you!” 

“And you were preparing for a similar proce- 
dure when I, having, as I said before, ensconced 
myself beneath your friendly table, and thus in- 
terrupted your monumental sin.” 

“What’s this?” asked Wilburt’s father, ap- 
proaching Cyrus. 

“The man lies.” 

“And in denying this truth, this irrefragable 
truth, you ” 

“Don’t you call me a liar !” 

“You prevaricate.” 

“Bangs!” 


102 


SILENCE 


‘‘Yes.” 

“Do me the favor, please, and call the young 
lady across the street,” which I did with much re- 
luctance and inward dismay. 

“My son, if "what you say is true, why is it 
that you stand before us in your shirtsleeves, not 
even with a collar and necktie?” 

“That’s my persopal affair.” 

“And my wife’s,” cut in Cyrus. 

“And I am going to apply for a divorce and ali- 
mony.” 

“By the gods! but you have nerve.” 

“It appears to me that I have the best of rea- 
sons for applying for one.” 

“Look here, children, this dispute has gone 
too far. Forget your little hates and reconcile 
yourselves to the irrevocable issue. You mar- 
ried for better or for worse, as the case may be. 
And, even though your bed be not a rose, bear it 
heroically, be ladies and gentlemen, and not edu- 
cated savages, thirsting for revenge.” 

“You disinherited me because I married for 
love — at least I thought I did. You cut yourself 
loose from me, turned me out of your office, 
adrift, to live my life as I might see fit, not caring 
whether I went to the dogs or not. And this 
being so, why try to dictate at this late date?” 

“I have no desire to dictate, boy. But I have 


UNMASKIl!fa A VILLAIN. 


103 


this little girPs welfare at heart. Leave these 
apartments; come, go with me and your wife and 
return to the place of your birth and take up 
your chair as head of the editorial staff on my 
jpaper and all will be forgiven. Will you do 
this, son?’^ 

^^No, sir, I will not.’^ 

^Wilburt, please do as your father begs of 
you,^’ falling before him on her knees. 

^Wou caused me all this trouble; it is to you 
that I am indebted for this scene, for the future 
downfall of my life and damnation of my soul.’^ 

^^God’s curse upon you, you fiend and with 
white lips and glassing eyes he forced the dis- 
tracted woman to her feet and led her from the 
room. 

^^Leave this room!’^ commanded Cyrus. 

^•^Not until I have faced you with the Woman in 
Purple.’’ 

^^I’ll throw you out!” 

^^Suppose you make the attempt.” 

^Wou perjure your soul when you swear that 
the Woman in Purple is, or has ” 

'What?” 

"Ah!” and his face lost its deadly color as the 
object of his thoughts stood in the threshold. 

"You are hurt, sir?” with an intonation of keen 
anxiety in her voice as she hurried to the dumb- 


104 


SILENCE 


founded Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., and her eyes, 
never leaving his face for a moment, fascinated 
him like the spell of a sorceress. 

I whispered my instructions received from the 
woman into the ears of Cyrus and his wife, and 
without further to-do they left the room in silence. 

“Does it pain as much as a minute ago?” she 
asked, still staring him in the eyes as she mas- 
saged his bare arm with her fingers. 

“Not as much,” and he laughed in a strange 
voice, though from where I stood I could see that 
he was rapidly falling asleep under the hypnotic 
influence of this strange enchantress. 

“You must lie down; you want to, don’t you?” 
leading him by the arm. 

“Nice girly,” I heard him mutter as he 
sprawled himself prone upon the couch. 

“You were accused of a certain outrage, were 
you not?” 

My ears were tense and strung as I listened for 
the answer, hardly above a whisper. 

“Yes.” 

“You are very amorous?” 

“Yes.” 

“You do not love your wife?” 

“No.” 

“You possess a violent passion for another 
man’s wife?” 


IJNMASKINa A VILLAIN. 


105 


“Yes.” 

“Mrs. Cyrus Scencio?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why do you answer such compromising ques- 
tions?” 

“You make me.” 

“Do you know Everett Bangs?” 

“Yes.” 

“W’hat is he?” 

“A scoundrel.” 

I jumped unconsciously at this strange, weird 
confession, revealing the man’s soul and all its 
sinister designs. 

“You hate him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Mrs. Scencio knows.” 

“And Cyrus?” 

“Is a fool.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he’s blind.” 

“Have you seen the Woman in Purple?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you like her?” 

“No.” 

“And why not?” 

“Because she’s a minx and hussy.” 

“There!” and she gave him a resounding slap 


106 


SILENCE 


on the face, leaving a scarlet tinge where she had 
struck him, and in another moment I was given 
the sign to vacate, which I at once did. 

“Silence!” and she placed a finger to her lips 
and vanished via the elevator. 

My curiosity was aroused as it never had been 
in the past. I wished to see his capers when he 
should come to himself, so I retreated toward the 
door leading to the sitting room, entered, and hid 
myself behind a friendly portiere. 

It was not over ten minutes at the utmost when 
he awoke with a loud yawn, stretched his arms, 
and rose to a sitting posture. 

“Well, I’ll be snickered!” I heard him say with' 
a sort of gasp, signalizing astonishment, as he 
got upon his feet. 

“Where am I? Heavens! (softly.) This is 
Cyrus’ apartment. And the Woman in Purple?” 

He rubbed his eyes for a moment as he tried 
to refresh his mind. 

“The fight!” he whispered. “The pistol (look- 
ing about him for the weapon). My father, wife 
and the Scencios, together with that sneaking 
scalawag Bangs. Drat that devil in purple any- 
way!” and he swore lustily as he crossed over to 
the door, opened it, peered down the deserted 
corridor, then closed the door and disappeared, 
leaving me to struggle with haunting and per- 


UNMASKING A VILLAIN. 


107 


plexing thoughts concerning the mysterious 
Woman in Purple. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 


IN DEFENCE OF HONOR. 

It was getting very close to the hour when re- 
spectable men and women ought to be abed; and 
I was just wondering what could have happened 
to the Scencios to keep them away from their 
home at this unholy hour, when the images of 
my thought entered the parlor. 

‘‘Be seated!” I heard my friend command in a 
stern voice. 

“Cyrus, dear.” 

“One moment.” 

And before I was given an opportunity of ma- 
king my presence known, I was forced to become 
a semi-unwilling eavesdropper. I say semi, for 
I had no desire to hear any more domestic woes, 
though I would have given the world to patch the 
broken breach and restore order out of chaos. 

“I wish I were dead and buried!” 

“Do not talk so solemnly, dear.” 

“Am I dear to you?” 


108 


IN DEFENCE OF HONOR 


109 


^^Yes/’ with a sob. 
doubt it.^^ 

‘What can I do to win back your confidence, 
Cyrus 

“I am afraid you have lost it forever.’^ 

“Oh, do not say so.’’ 

“You have deceived me egregiously, most 
shamefully.” 

“I swear upon my honor that you are mis- 
taken.” 

“You’ve lost your honor, provided, of course, 
that your sex possess such a delicate piece o^ 
mechanism.” 

“I swear by all that’s holy, Cyrus.” 

“Do not perjure your soul unnecessarily.” 

“I wish that I had a child, one large enough to 
understand my woe.” 

“You’d corrupt it by your flagitious conduct. 
No, I do not want a child if you were to be its 
mother.” 

I have heard the sobbing of several women in 
my time, but never the like of which greeted my 
ears this night. It was low, it was racking 
upon one’s soul, and it performed a miracle. At 
flrst the man left his seat and proceeded to pace to 
and fro in an endeavor to stifle from his ears the 
sound of the wild abandonment of his wife’s sob- 
bing; next he swore inarticulately as he smote 


no 


8ILENCE 


his fist upon the table, and then, wonder of 
wonders! he dropped on his knees, took her hands 
in his and spoke: 

“Janice!” 

“Yes.” 

“Look at me.” 

Through blinding tears she surveyed the meta- 
morphosed face of her husband, a face streaked 
with sorrow and with pain. 

“Do you remember the night we met? The 
stars were like great diamonds set in the vaulted 
dome of a Prussian blue firmament; the moon 
was full, and beaming from its coral bed as the 
whippoorwills crooned to their loving mates and 
pansies kissed the crystal dew that fell from 
Heaven’s crypt. The floating strains of a waltz 
rode like the mist the somnolent atmosphere; the 
sturdy oak beneath whose friendly branches we 
sat seemed to whisper Love’s vows to the eternal 
skies above. And the Great Spirit blessed us 
both as we kissed beneath His studded dome. 
When as I spoke to you of Love’s fond hope an 
onyx tear that stole to the corner of your eye re- 
vealed the fact, the sublime knowledge, that love 
had found its own, and I was happy. I basked 
my soul in the sweet manifestation as a lark does 
its wings in sunset beams of gold. I counted the 
seconds, the minutes, the hours and the days 


IN DEFENCE OF HONOR 


111 


when, before the altar of your fathers’ faith, I 
should stand and receive- you as my own and all, 
an integral and indissoluble part of my present and 
future existence. But, what an awakening!”* 

Entranced at the man’s poetical speech, I sat 
as if carved out of stone, and listened for the re- 
ply from his wife. 

“Don’t, Cyrus, don’t,” and anew she sobbed the 
burdens of her heart and soul, wrung by the 
mournful cadence of her husband’s voice and 
what his words implied. 

“I am not a savage brute, a bestial fiend in 
the garb of man. I love a peaceful home, and wor- 
ship the affection of a faithful wife. Will you be 
that to me? Can you?” 

“Yes, Cyrus, I will.” 

“Will you renounce whatsoever affection you 
may still possess for the vapid tinsel of your set 
and go with me to the virgin dells of Nature and 
be an inspiration to my chosen profession, help 
me to forget this day, and what it has brought 
forth to the both of us?” 

“Yes. I will go with you to the ends of this 
(earth, anywhere, if you will but love and respect 
me as when first we were married.” 

“I ask no more. I have genius, and it one 
cannot suppress, though for a time it may be op- 

•With permission from “Betelguese.” 


112 


SILENCE 


pressed. Love me truly, confide to me your 
aches of heart and soul, and I will paint. I’ll 
paint with the tire of genius and enthusiasm and 
make you the proudest woman on earth. *I’ll 
scale the almost inacces.sible and insurmount- 
able crags of Opposition; I’ll storm the rock-in- 
fested walls of Prejudice and plant my standard 
upon the highest apex of Fame immortal and 
Work triumphant. I’ll paint the primeval for- 
ests in all their virginal beauty ; I’ll put to canvas 
the lofty heights of snow-capped mountain peaks 
and paint above their towering heads the span- 
gled rifts of gray and silver clouds that float ma- 
jestically to the shores of Paradise; I’ll immor- 
talize the work of the Great Spirit, and crown 
you queen of womanhood and empress of my 
realm.”* 

The woman was fascinated, paralyzed at this 
speech of her gifted husband whom she had lured 
to the yawning chasm of envy, hate and murder. 

“Janice,” rising and drawing her to her feet. 

“Cyrus! Cyrus!” and she clung to him as a 
babe does to its mother’s breast. 

“Will you renounce the world, the flesh and the 
devil and follow me?” 

“I will.” 


♦With permission from “Betelguese.' 


IN DEFENCE OF HONOR 


113 


you be to me an inspiratory help? If 
you will, I’ll blast from my memory the canker- 
ing thoughts of Wilburt Cassaway, and lose my- 
self in the crystal folds of your life and the joy 
of my profession. I’ll make the world ring with 
the echo of your husband’s name; I’ll paint a 
laughing sea that throws a salutation to the em- 
pyreal heights of Heaven, and hang it in the Hall 
of Fame; I’ll reproduce the Alpine heights of cold 
and bleak that seem to pierce the very dome of 
sky, and lay it as a trophy at your feet; I’ll rake 
the diamond stars from the heavens, place them 
as a tiara upon your alabaster brow and be your 
slave, if you’ll but be my queen.* I’ll dig. I’ll 
grovel in the garbage cans of the rich and the 
hovels of the poor, ere you, the image of the Al- 
mighty, should be forced to purvey the fruits of 
flesh as a means of subsistence.” 

^‘Cyrus, I love you! I love you!” and she smoth- 
ered his face with kisses. ‘‘1 swear,” falling on 
her knees and holding her hands above her head, 
‘‘1 swear that I will be what you have asked of 
me; I swear that I will be like the lily in the 
field, an undefiled receptacle of purity, love and 
affection.” 


♦With permission from ‘‘Betelguese.’ 


114 


SILENCE 


“1 want no more, dear,” raising her to her feet 
and kissing her quivering lips. ‘‘And now, love, 
let us blot from our individual memory the lin- 
gering image of the past, that past dating from 
the time of our return from our honeymoon until 
to-day. And now, good night,” and with an af- 
fectionate embrace he led her to the door commu- 
nicating with the bedroom, then returned to his 
seat, turned the lights out and, with lighted pipe, 
lost himself in the profundity of his reverie. 

The terrible earnestness of his words had en- 
thralled me, had sapped the vitality of my limbs 
and left me in a trance of admiration and of 
monumental fear. I say fear, for, even as the 
soul-drawn words left his lips, I thought of what 
should happen if, after this crucial ordeal, his 
trust should again be outraged by the sardonic 
connivance of a man who had feasted on the 
spoils of virtue, of friendship and of trust. I 
feared to leave my seat. I trembled at the pros- 
pect of encountering my friend in the nocturnal 
quietness of his room, so I sat in solitary still- 
ness and rehearsed the day’s heartrending events. 

Just when I fell asleep I do not remember. But 
I awoke about 5 a. m. and found the room de- 
serted. 

The sun had shoved its giant hands through 
the opaque blanket of the East like a god that 


IN DEFENCE OF HONOR 


115 


left Ills throne in search of his queen ; the fragrant 
perfume of this August morning wooed my senses 
with its potent wand, and I, succumbing to its 
subtle influence, hastened from the room and soon 
was making my way to a nearby park, where the 
robins and squirrels made merry with the kissing 
rays of a loving sun. 

A good shower-bath about 9 A. M. refreshed me 
wonderfully, and after enjoying a most palatable 
breakfast, I repaired to my office and sought to 
bury myself in my work, but without avail. There 
was a tucking at my heart, an indefinable some- 
thing kept spurring me to leave and see how mat- 
ters fared with my artist friend. And it is well 
that I listened to the mysterious impulse, for 
had I not I should have missed the sublimest 
spectacle ever enacted between a husband and 
an infatuated siren. 

Cyrus and I had been talking for about fifteen 
minutes when we were interrupted by the hall- 
boy with: 

^^A lady to see you, Mr. Scencio,’’ and suspect- 
ing the identity of the visitor, I excused myself 
for a moment and left, only to re-enter by way of 
the dining room and ensconce myself behind 
the portieres dividing the large spacious parlor. 

^^Shall I show the lady in?’’ asked the lad. 

^Tell her that I am out.” 


116 


SILENCE 


“Oh, but you are in, sir,” and my lady Silence 
entered, roseate with happy smiles and bright 
sparkling eyes; and the lad, blessing the woman, 
who gave him a crisp dollar note, bowed himself 
out and closed the door after him. 

“What do you want?” brusquely from the man, 
as he surveyed the intruding woman with scorn. 

“Sir!” haughtily, her golden head towering 
above her shoulders like that of Psyche as she 
stared at the dumbfounded man before her. 

“How dare you intrude, and unsolicited, too?” 

“Well, well, well!” laughing low and musically. 
“First I am invited, and then asked how I dare to 
intrude!” 

“Invited?” in consternation. 

“Why, of course, else why should I be here?” 

“And who in the name of the six devils invited 
you, eh?” rising and glaring at the woman with 
increasing wrath. 

“Are you in your senses, sir?” 

“Never was saner than at this moment.” 

“Your actions, though, would have me believe 
otherwise. May I take a seat?” 

Like a catapult the answer shot from his lips: 

“No!” 

A bright tinge of carmine mantled her cheeks 
as she spoke: 

“No such outrage has been handed me by a 


DEFENCE OF HONOR 


117 


gentleman since my stay in New York.” 

“You’re a ” 

“Lady,” she interposed, eyeing him steadily 
and unflinchingly. 

“A personified ” 

“Lady,” and she came toward him with her 
basilisk-like orbs boring into his like thunder- 
bolts from above. 

“A — lady,” he murmured, bewildered at the 
woman’s intonation, her mien and her terrible 
cat-like crouch. 

“Good! Splendid!” and she invited herself to 
a seat and began to play with the rubies attached 
to her purse. And he, struck dumb and speech- 
less by her superb audacity and manifestation of 
superiority of nerve and coolness, wished himself 
buried in the abyss of oblivion. 

“Why was I invited?” 

“You?” incredulously. 

“Yes, me.” 

“By whom?” 

“Yourself, sir.” 

“Eh?” and he staggered back in blank amaze- 
ment. 

“Did you not write me to call this forenoon at 
11.15 A. M. sharp?” 

“By heaven! No!” 

“And yet you sent me a note to this effect.” 


118 


SILENCE 


“What!” he shouted, approaching the woman 
in baffled perplexity. 

“You sent me a tender billet-doux by the lad 
who announced my entrance.” 

‘Wou must be dreaming.” 

“As my veracity is questioned, I am compelled 
to call the boy in my defense,” whereupon she 
rose and left the room, only to return in a mo- 
ment with the boy. 

“Shut the door!” commanded Cyrus. 

“Now, son,” as he stood between the man and 
the woman, “did you see me early this morning, 
about 8.30 A. M.?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“And why?” 

“I had a note to deliver to you from Mrs. Scen- 
cio.” 

‘Wou lie!” clenching his fists as he bounced 
upon the frightened lad. 

“You appear to have an ungovernable temper, 
on a parallel with the ocular demonstration of 
your love.” 

He ground his teeth in simon rage as his con- 
vulsed fists itched for a display of brute force 
and strength. 

“Who gave you the note, dear?’* patting his 
cheeks affectionately. 

“Mrs. Scencio.” 


IN DEFENCE OF HONOR 


119 


His face went white as death, his breath came 
in short, spastic gasps as he glared at the woman 
and boy. 

“Could you identify the note if you ssaw it 
again?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Is this it?” producing a small envelope from 
her purse. 

“Yes.” 

A startled cry escaped the woman and pierced 
the atmosphere as Cyrus leaped to where the 
woman half-knelt and tore the note from her 
hands. 

“By the gods! it’s my stationery!” he exclaimed 
as he examined the envelope and paper. 

“And what does the note say?” 

“A damnable lie,” crunching it in his fist. 

“Cyrus ” 

“Mr. Scencio, if you please.” 

Majestically she rose and riveted her seductive 
eyes upon those of the man who battled anew in 
the throes of reascending passion and soul- 
destroying lust. 

“Cyrus,” eyeing him steadfastly, “give the lad 
a dollar.” 

I perceived the utter helplessness of him as he 
obeyed her without a protest; then, when the lad 


120 


SILENCE 


had disappeared, she turned the key in the lock 
and confronted her captive. 

“What do you mean by your conduct?” 

“Leave me, please,” slowly receding toward the 
mantle as shev advanced, her heart a seething 
cauldron of blind and implacable anger that en- 
hanced her beauty until even I, behind the por- 
tieres, felt the sweat ooze from my pores as the 
devilish longings, concocted by the manipulation 
of an engendered Mephistopheles in the person of 
this mysterious woman, spun my thoughts in the 
devastating cesspool of putrid longings, hopes 
and joys. 

“You sent for me, and why?” 

“I — did — not.” 

“You kissed me yesterday with a fire that has 
burned its way into my very soul.” 

“You drove me to the belching abyss of Hell’s 
pampered loves that feast upon the spread of lust 
and decayed virtue. 

“You sucked the vitals of my heart and roused 
my slumbering soul to the knowledge of what 
love begets. 

“And you slew the honor of my once noble soul 
and dragged it to the gutter of vice cankering 
and crime-polluted. 

“You foisted upon my heart a desire that it 
never knew before, and you must satisfy it.” 


m DEFENCE OF HONOR 


121 


will not/^ and he stamped his foot in rage 
and despair. 

^^I’ll force you; and, whilst doing so, I’ll make 
of you what blind Destiny willed. I’ll drag you 
from your insane prejudice; I’ll force you to glue 
your eyes upon a figure that will stab your soul 
with piercing desires. Yes, you!” advancing a 
step and pointing her wax-like arm at him. ^^I’ll 
make you paint it, every curve, every line, and 
make of you Fame’s rarest jewel, the world’s im- 
mortal artist,” and as she made to take hold of 
his hand, he leaped upon the table and stood 
erect, though his limbs shook as if swayed by an 
earthquake. 

^^I fear you and I don’t.” 

^^I love you with a passion that could slay.” 

^^And I despise you.” 

^^I’ll battle with your senses and make you 
slave to my every whim and fancy.” 

^^And I will perish in the battle for the honor of 
my soul and the virtue of my wife!” 

^^Cyrus Scencio, you’re a fool! Here,” taking a 
small visiting card from her purse and laying it 
on the table, ^^go to this address some day and see 
v^hom you may find,” and the next moment she 
was gone, as Cyrus, sapped of his fighting 
strength, sank limp and flaccid to the table, a 
momentary wreck of his once robust manhood. 


CHAPTER IX. 


WE BIDE IN “black MARIA.’' 

I was speechless. My mind, was in a chaos of 
riot and disorder, my heart heavy with the load- 
stone of doubt and of fear, for the manner in 
which the woman fired her parting shot and the 
nature of the missile, was enough to drive the 
assaulted man to desperation and to murder. 

“Cyrus!” and I hastened to the table and led 
him to a chair. 

“Were you a spectator to the cyclone, Et’?” 

“I know all, friend, and I’m going to help you.” 

“I’m nearly insane, Et’, I cannot think connect- 
edly nor succinctly.” 

“Let me see the card with the address.” 

“There it is,” pointing to the table. 

The house in question I could locate, but of it 
I knew absolutely nothing. 

“Have you the note that the woman gave you?” 

“Yes,” opening his clenched fist. 

“The note, Cyrus, asks for an appointment at 

123 


WE RIDE IN “BLACK MARIA” 


123 


11.15 A. M. and closes with ^Love and many 
kisses.’ It is not in your handwriting, though, 
and the hand that wrote the note did not address 
the envelope.” 

‘‘No?” 

“No, friend. Did you not recognize the hand- 
writing of the note?” 

“Let me see it, please.” 

For several minutes he studied it, but vouch- 
safed no immediate reply; and I, growing impa- 
tient at his delay, forced the issue by asking : 

“Is it not your wife’s?” 

“Ef!” 

“No offence, friend. I am satisfied after hav- 
ing witnessed the scene between you two last 
night that from henceforth you may place im- 
plicit confidence in her. But the handwriting 
must be accounted for. Is it your wife’s?” 

“Yes.” 

“And that on the envelope is whose?” 

“Not my wife’s?” 

“God forbid!” 

“Then whose is it?” 

“Cassaway’s.” 

The silence grew into seconds and the seconds 
into minutes, yet the man moved not a muscle 
nor spoke a word, simply sat in his chair, over- 
come at this unlooked-for intelligence. 


124 


SILENCE 


I knew the writing instantly, yet I was bat- 
tled as to how it came to be on the envelope con- 
taining the note. And as I was pondering over 
this dilemma, the wife of Cyrus entered. 

“Has anything happened?” anxiously of me 
as she hastened to the side of her husband. 

“Yes and no.” 

“How strangely you speak, Mr. Bangs.” 

“A little unpleasantness has taken place, due 
to the strange, almost mysterious issue of your 
little note,” and I watched her face furtively as I 
spoke for any signs of danger. 

“My note, to whom?” 

“It starts ‘Dear Friend’ and ends with ‘Love 
and many kisses,’ but no address nor signature 
is given.” 

“Let me see it.” 

Taking the note from the envelope I handed 
it to her and waited in silence for her to declare 
herself. 

“And this innocent missive has caused you and 
Cyrus to be thrown into a melancholy mood? 
How ridiculous!” and she laughed merrily as she 
patted her husband’s cheeks, all the while making 
a mock face of anger at me, who thanked High 
Heaven that no near-compromising issue was 
on hand to stir up fresh trouble between these 
two. 


WE RIDE IN ^^BLACK MARIA” 


125 


wrote this note and gave it to one of the 
hall-boys with the instruction to deliver it in per- 
son to the addressed/’ 

^^And who was the addressed?” asked Cyrus. 

^^Mrs. Cassaway,” unconsciously blushing to the 
roots of her hair. 

^^But you failed to keep your appointment.” 
know, Cyrus. There was a fire on Fourth 
avenue, the cars became stalled, and I was un- 
avoidably detained. I ’phoned her, though, chang- 
ing the hour of appointment from 11.15 A. M. to 
12.30 P. M.” 

Where did you ’phone her?” 

^^At her father-in-law’s residence.” 

^^Did she answer the ’phone?” 

^^Yes, and I expect her here at any moment.” 

^^Here’s the envelope that contained your note, 
Mrs. Scencio,” handing her same. 

^Why,” and she eyed me narrowly for a mo- 
ment, ^^this is not my handwriting.” 

'Whose is it?” 

"I do not know. Who is Miss Silence?” 

"The Lady in Purple.” 

"And it is she who received my note?” 

"She did, and came here as per appointment.” 

"Call the lad to whom you gave your note, 
Janice.” 


126 


SILENCE 


In a moment the boy stood before ns, fright- 
ened at the sternness of my friend’s face. 

“Who gave you this note?” showing him the 
envelope. 

“Mrs. Scencio, sir.” 

“Did you deliver it immediately?” 

“Not immediately, sir,” 

“W'hy not?” 

“I heard a call from the snite across the hall, 
so I laid the note on the table there and an- 
swered the bell.” 

“And who was it that called?” 

“Mr. Cassaway.” 

“Cassaway!” he shonted at the frightened lad 
in a rasping voice. 

“Yes, sir,” shrinking away from the irate man. 

“And what did he want?” 

“A glass of whiskey.” 

“And you got it for him before delivering the 
note?” 

“Yes, sir. He has been very kind to me, and I 
wished to be as obliging as possible. I informed 
him, though, that he would have to wait a few 
minutes as I had to deliver a message. He told 
me to leave my message on the table and get his 
whiskey at once, saying that it could wait ; where- 
upon I informed him that I had left it lying on 


WE RIDE IN ^^BLACK MARIA” 


127 


the table here, left him and hastened for his 
-whiskey” 

•‘'And the letter?’’ 

delivered it to the addressed.” 

^^Had you read the address when you first re- 
ceived it from my wife?” 

‘^No, sir.” 

^^That will do;” whereupon the boy made 
haste to vacate, fearing the frowning face of xis 
interlocutor. 

Mrs. Cassaway appeared promptly at 12.30 P. 
M., and incidentally identified the handwriting 
on the envelope as that of her husband’s. And 
there the matter ended for the time being. 

Women have a wonderful way of ^^making up.” 
One day they may be the worst of enemies and 
call each other ^^cat,” ^^hussy,” and every other 
superlative appellation that they can think of; 
the next day there is a meeting, then a kissing 
performance, with a few tears to make things 
melodramatic, and all is forgiven and forgotten, 
but not so with the harder sex. All of you have 
either heard or read of a man possessing a 
^^grudge,” who kept his tongue for a number of 
months or years, only at a most unlooked-for mo- 
ment to hurl his exploding bomb into his enemy’s 
camp. And knowing this to be a fact, I figured 


128 


SILENCE 


on the possible outcome of a future meeting be- 
tween Cyrus and young Cassaway. 

True to his avowal, Cyrus broke up his estab- 
lishment that same day and moved to the coun- 
try, on a beautiful farm on the Hudson River, 
near Troy, where in the months that followed he 
forgot his past sorrows in the daily application of 
his work. 

I knew, of course, that the ordeal was most 
trying for his wife, that she missed her host of 
friends and mourned the loss of society’s spangled 
tinsel. Hence I made it a rule to visit them every 
Wednesday and Sunday. And in all of my many 
excursions my friend never alluded to either of the 
Cassaways. 

The W^oman in Purple I saw on very rare oc- 
casions; probably between the date of Cyrus’ de- 
parture and the day preceding Thanksgiving I 
saw her not more than four times, and then only 
from my apartments. 

Young Cassaway was living a hermit’s life in 
tlie same suite once occupied by the Scencios. 
Just why the change I could not say. Probably 
it reminded him of certain things he was fain to 
forget; probably the man had some sinister de- 
sign — who knows? 

Neither his father nor his wife had seen him 
since that fatal day in August; neither had I, for 


WE RIDE IN ^^BLACK MARIA” 


129 


that matter, nor would I have been cognizant of 
his close proximity to my quarters had it not been 
for the lad who had been used as a cat^s-paw by 
him. 

The snow was falling lightly, the air was just 
cool enough not to be uncomfortable; and, as I 
entered my office building and took the elevator, 
I envied the thought of my friend’s dinner of tur- 
key and cranberry sauce away up there on the 
banks of the Hudson. Simultaneously I be- 
thought myself of the Cassaways, and speculated 
whether at to-day’s dinner the wandering sheep 
in the person of young Cassaway would elect to 
return to his father’s fold. And as I was reading 
the morning paper and smoking a most delicious 
Havana, the door of my sanctum flew open and 
Cyrus Scencio entered. 

His brows were wrinkled, the lines of his mouth 
were puckered into an ugly frown, and his eyes, 
'Heavens! they looked murder at me, me, his 
friend! 

^^Get your coat and hat on and follow!” 

^^But ” I began to remonstrate, when he cut 

me short with: 

^^Satan!” and he stamped his foot on the floor 
and swore profusely. 

^^One moment and I’ll be with you,” and I hast 
iened into my overcoat as quickly as possible, and 


130 


SILENCE 


announced my readiness by drawing on my 
gloves. 

However, he spoke not a word, not one, until 
the Ninth avenue L had dropped us at the 59th 
, street station and we had descended to the 
street below. 

‘‘Do you see this thing?” shoving a huge 48- 
calibre revolver into my startled face. 

“Yes, but in heaven’s name, Cyrus* ” 

“No heaven about this business, Et’, but hell, 
black hell, whither Wilburt Cassaway is bound 
for in about five minutes by the fastest express 
known to science — a ball of lead.” 

“I’ll go no farther.” 

( “Oh, yes, you will. And after it’s all over 
you’ll be one of the jurors to send me to the elec- 
tric chair, provided, of course, that I am frus- 
trated in my premeditated designs.” 

“Which are?” I gasped in awe. 

“To kill my wife, her paramour, and yours 
truly.” 

“Come in here,” and I proceeded to drag him to 
a nearby saloon, when he fiatly refused with 
dogged determination. 

“I’ll call that officer and have you arrested if 
you don’t.” 

“What do you want of me?” as he started to- 
ward the saloon. > 


WE RIDE IN ^^BLAGK MARIA” 


131 


want you to take a large dose of brandy.’’ 

^^That’s so. How clever of you, Et’. Now I 
should not have thought of such a thing as a 
nerve steadier,” whereupon we entered and or- 
dered a round of brandy apiece. 

Come, now, let us be going, for I have work to 
accomplish,” and he made to leave, when I stayed 
him. 

My object was to get him drunk, aye, paralyzed, 
if possible, then take him to a hotel, put him to 
bed and look up his wife. 

want another drink, Cyrus.” 

^^You do, eh?” eyeing me suspiciously. ^^That’s 
strange. Never knew you to use intoxicating 
drinks before. What’s happened?” 

^Wou know,” pouring out a regular toper’s 
drink — even with the rim of the glass — and shoving 
it toward him, ^^that a man in my profession needs 
an occasional stimulant, something to steady 
his nerves.” 

; ^Well, here’s looking!” whereupon he lifted 
the glass to his lips and drank, whilst I poured 
the contents of mine into the trough before the 
bar. 

^^Come over to this table for a moment before 
we leave, for I wish to ask a question or two of 
vital importance.” 

You’re a good fellow, Et’, if you are an ass 


132 


SILENCE 


when woman is concerned,” and I noticed that 
his voice was growing thick, and his gait was los- 
ing its characteristic erecthess. Would I suc- 
ceed? Oh, how I prayed that I should, for I was 
in mortal dread of the all-impending issue. 

“Waiter, two Canadian Clubs!” I called at that 
functionary, and then, “Now, chum and brother, 
what brought you away from your customary 
haunts?” 

“Ef, I’ve been a fool, a fool!” 

“Go ahead,” and I shoved the whiskey toward 
him and watched him like a hawk. 

“I can’t find my wife. She went to town yester- 
day to buy several articles for our Thanksgiving 
spread, and has failed to return. And this is the 
day of thanks!” and I noted the tears steal to his 
dark eyes as he thus bethought himself of what 
he had to give thanks for. 

“Here’s health, peace and fame!” and I lifted 
high the sparkling glass of whiskey, and as he 
drained his in a choking gulp, I tossed mine over 
my shoulder and thanked heaven that my friend 
was getting drunk. Yet in another moment we 
were mixed up in about as ugly a broil as one 
could possibly wish to see. 

I always act upon an impulse, even is this so 
when defending a client at court, and in the sa- 
loon I proved myself no exception to this procliv* 


WE RIDE IN “BLACK MARIA’’ 133 


ity. The thought occurred to me to fling the be- 
fuddling drink over my shoulders just as Cyrus 
should raise his to his lips. I did so and soused a 
man behind me. 

“What do you mean?” asked the injured indi- 
vidual as he sprang to his feet and shoved a huge 
callous flst under my very nose. 

“Do you see this, stranger?” and as I looked I 
caught the gleam of my friend’s revolver. “It 
will speak if you so much as touch my chum’s 
hair.” 

“Shoot, then!” 

For a moment I thought that a sledgehammer 
had felled me. The barroom seemed on end and 
doing a wild bacchanalian dance, then the vapor 
left my senses, and I saw, aye, I saw my friend 
Cyrus and the stranger locked in a terrible em- 
brace; they swayed from side to side like carnal 
fiends unleashed. And in the saloon, as the chairs 
and tables flew helter-skelter, bedlam broke loose. 
Friends of the stranger pounced upon me and 
meddled with the features of my face. And Cy- 
rus, in his half-drunken state, was a raging brute 
of unimaginable strength and ferocity. The man 
was huge and powerful, much larger than my 
friend, but he lacked the demoniacal fury that 
had been rampant in my friend’s soul for the last 


134 


SILENCE 


ten or twelve hours, and now gloated at this un- 
expected outlet of his pent-up feelings. 

Against the wall the man was hurled with the 
violence of a projectile; at Cyrus he sprang, his 
jfellow teeth gleaming like the fangs of an en- 
raged boar, and the bystanders, becoming ter- 
rorized at this gladiatorial display of herculean 
strength, forgot me in the fascination of the 
gruelling combat. 

Their sinuous arms were interlocked; in hell- 
ish rage they chewed their mustaches and fought 
for a wrestler’s strangle-hold; then, far quicker 
than the eye of man could follow, the man spun 
around like a top, a frightful curse ravaged the 
atmosphere and shook the very rafters of the 
rookery as Cyrus caught his foe between his arms 
and squeezed, squeezed, until the spectators heard 
three consecutive reports, caused by the snapping 
of the man’s ribs. 

And it was his intention to kill the man, which 
was only frustrated by the belated appearance of 
the guardians of the peace, gentlemen who are 
invariably absent at a most critical moment, and 
strangely make an appearance after the damage 
has been done. 

Be this as it may, I blessed them for the first 
time in my life, though I cursed them most round- 


WE BIDE IN ^^BLAGK MARIAI^ 135 


ly the next moment as they proceeded to club the 
black, curly head of my savage friend. 

His victim had swooned; and an ambulance 
hurried him to the Flower Hospital, whilst a 
dozen ^^Black Marias^^ carted Cyrus, myself and 
the spectators to the nearest police station, 
where, after the usual preliminary proceedings, 
our names were entered, Cyrus’ and mine ficti- 
tious ones, and bail fixed, according to the 
charges made. 

Fortunately I happened to have two-thirds of 
the necessary amount, |200 in my case, helped 
myself to what I found in my friend’s pockets, 
and so sallied forth for my then best friend — the 
wallet locked in the small safe at my office. 

1 I would extricate my friend from his igno- 
minious incarceration amongst hoodlums, roys- 
terers and panhandlers, let the bail go in default 
of non-appearance, and so forget the incident. I 
was in duty bound to do so, for had I not enticed 
a man to drink, a friend of mine who knew not 
the taste of alcoholic beverages? 

Yes, I would get him out, but not before four 
or five A. M. Let him sober up, let him have sev- 
eral hours’ meditation, and probably his present 
murderous impulse will have left his heart and 
open his eyes to the error of his premeditated ram- 
page of Simon lust for murder. 


CHAPTER X. 


BESTED. 

The corridor was unusually dark, and it was 
with great difficulty that I found my way to the 
door that I knew led to the bedchamber once oc- 
cupied by the Scencios. It was midnight. The 
hours intervening between the time of my release 
from the police station and midnight were con- 
sumed at my office, at a doctor’s who decorated 
my face with varying sundry decorations to hide 
the ugly bruises, and my residence, where I 
awaited the answers to several telegrams from 
Troy. And when the news finally reached me by 
wire that to all intents and purposes the wife of 
Cyrus had disappeared from the ken of the living, 
for she had not been seen for forty-eight hours, 
and the messenger boys who had visited the farm 
reported the total absence of even the husband — 
I left my rooms, replenished the inner man, and 
set in motion the machinery of my detective de- 
partment. 


186 


BESTED 


137 


For several minutes I stood before the door and 
listened with my ear close to the keyhole, but 
heard nothing, absolutely no sound. What could 
I do? W’hat should I do? 

Reluctantly I left the corridor, walked down 
the steps, as I did not wish to have my presence 
known to even the elevator boy, and soon was out 
in the crisp night air again, a worsted amateur 
detective. But I would succeed. I’d haunt the 
immediate vicinity, though the thermometer 
should drop to zero and the night grow into day, 
but that I would see my quarry ; always provided, 
of course, that Cyrus and I were not in error. 

Up and down the opposite street I paced in the 
frosty air, my chattering jaws rattling with the 
stinging cold and icicles forming upon my beard, 
yet the self-imposed task I would not nor could 
not shirk, for I was Cyrus’ sworn hyperaspist for 
friendship and for honor’s sake. I hated the man 
who had robbed my friend of the affection of his 
wife; I hated him for countless other reasons of 
my own, in particular his attempted alienation 
of my chum’s confidence and respect for his young 
manhood’s first, and, for that matter, only friend, 

Down the furtherest corner of the street ap- 
peared two vacillating lights; they were coming 
toward me, and in the excitement of my expect- 
ancy the chattering of my teeth subsided. 


138 


SILENCE 


It was a closed carriage, and desiring to get as 
•good a view of its occnpants as possible, I sta- 
tioned myself directly in front of No. 16 and await- 
ed with eager breath the fast approaching horses. 

“Thanks!” tnd the Woman in Purple tossed the 
frozen driver a bright coin (I think it was a gold 
piece), and then caught sight of me and recog- 
nized me instantly. 

“Miss Silence,” and I raised my hat despite the 
fearful cold as I stepped toward her. 

“Sir!” freezingly, as she surveyed me with well- 
assumed contempt. 

“Pardon me, miss, but I have most distressing 
news, and thought that it might just be possible 
that you could be of most valuable assistance.” 

“You are Everett Bangs, the laTvyer?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what is the nature of your distressing 
news that you should come to me for assistance?” 

“It concerns a friend of mine, Cyrus Scencio, 
an artist,” chuckling to myself as I thought of 
what she would be to him if he were but willing. 

“Won’t you come up to my apartments? We 
cannot remain here, you know, and talk till 
dawn.” 

“If you please,” and I laughed again into my 
beard as she led the way, wondering the while 
how I should escape the battery of her queries 


BESTED 


139 


when once I should be in her rooms without com- 
promising myself, and worming the desired 
knowledge from her secret soul. 

^^One moment, please,’’ and she excused herself 
and disappeared in an adjoining room, leaving 
me standing in the centre of the sitting room. 

The room was warm, it felt most comfortable 
after having been out in the blistering cold for 
several hours; and, as I was speculating whether 
I ought to help myself to a seat or not, the woman 
in purple — no, she was dressed in a most be- 
witching evening gown of green — entered. 

have not seen you for nearl}^ four months,” 
deprecatingly, though assimulated. 

^^No. My spare time I devoted to my friend on 
a farm up on the majestic Hudson.” 

^Where he devoted his time to painting wood- 
lawn scenery?” 

^^Yes. And some of them are superb.” 

hope that they are better than his Venus at 
the National Academy of Fine Arts.” 

^Which won the highest reward.” 

^^And is that a criterion to go by? Does it rep- 
resent America’s standard of art?” 

cannot answer that for you because I am but 
a layman in such things.” 

^^Your friend is a born genius.” 

^^Thanks. I know that he will appreciate your 


140 


SILENCE 


^compliment, for, undoubtedly, you understand 
real art when you see it.” 

“How adroitly you put your encomiums, Mr. 
Bangs.” 

“And are you interested in my distressing 
news?” 

“Inasmuch as your young Adonis is concerned? 
Yes.” 

“Listen,” moving my chair closer to her and 
speaking in a lowered voice. “He is at this pre- 
cise moment in jail, locked up in a dirty police 
station,” and I recounted to her our disastrous 
experience, exhibiting my decorated face and 
showing to as good advantage as possible the 
prowess of my young David. 

No exclamation escaped her lips as I, the self- 
styled astute lawyer, had expected. Instead, she 
kept her lips closed and awaited further intelli- 
gence. 

“You are not interested?” I asked aggrievedly. 

“Street brawls do not arouse my admiration, 
sir.” 

I felt like cursing at this well-parried thrust 
of her tongue. And as such was denied me, be- 
ing in the presence of a lady, I did the next best 
thing and pulled the back of my hair with ven- 

“Probably you are not aware of the fact that 
the Cassaways are not living together?” 


BESTED 


141 


“No.” 

“And that young Oassaway is inhabiting the 
suite once occupied by the Scencios?” 

“No.” 

Baffled at every move and turn, I swore be- 
neath my breath and racked my thoughts anew 
for fresh material. 

“Do you like to pose?” 

“As I never tried the experiment, I feel a deli- 
cacy in articulating.” 

“Why, I thought that Cyrus gave me to under- 
stand that you were the noted model who had 
posed for the world’s greatest painters and sculp- 
tors, Greek figures being your specialty.” 

“Did you?” 

“Yes.” 

“How remarkable. And yet I should so like to 
pose for some really great painter and have my 
name handed down to posterity in connection 
with his subject and his immortal fame. 

“And your name?” 

“Countess von ” 

She stopped right at this most critical moment, 
this all-pervading moment, when I had hoped to 
glean her name and identity. 

“Countess von What?” 

“Silence.” 


142 


SILENCE 


“Your shrouded mystery drives away my re- 
ligion.” 

“And makes you long to swear?” 

“Something akin to it, if you will pardon this 
admission.” 

“You’ve been a good boy so far, though abnor- 
mally inquisitive, even for a lawyer. Suppose 
now, that I informed you that I am a descendant of 
one of the oldest houses in Europe, say, for in- 
stance, Hungary, that I have been married, and 
that my age — most unforgivable sin in your 
American women — is thirty-two. Then what?” 

“Nothing more remains save the disclosure of 
your name.” 

“Which is Silence.” 

“Like mine of Jones.” 

“Do you question my honor?” 

“No, I’ll admit that it is none of my business.” 

“You’ll also admit that I am more than pass- 
ingly beautiful?” 

“Eh?” half rising. 

“That you would barter your very soul for the 
possession of a woman of my physical attributes, 
that at this very moment, this precious moment 
you would bask your bachelor heart in the affec- 
tions and love of the Lady in Purple?” 

The perspiration on my brow was cold as the 
air without; the thumping of my heart sounded 


BESTED 


143 


like a trip-hammer working overtime as I stood, 
a transformed imbecile, subject to the whims and 
fancies of this most bewitching enchantress in 
green. 

^^Lie there!’’ 

It was a stern command. I tried to walk to- 
ward the door and make a hasty exit, yet my legs, 
confound them! marched the opposite direction 
to that I wished and prayed them to take. And 
I fought a battle, I fought in my helpless condi- 
tion the battle of my life. Against the spell of 
this modern Hecate I struggled with all the 
strength of my will power, with all the force of 
my terror-stricken soul, only in the end to bow 
my will in silent and subconscious submission. 

“How soft are your hands!” I heard her mur- 
mur as she proceeded to stroke them. “And you 
are worried, too.” 

“Yes,” I heard myself answer, though why I 
did so I could not then account. 

“You were not spying my movements?” 

“No.” 

“And yet you were on the alert for somebody?” 

“Yes.” 

“Who?’' 

Pangs of white-heated hue seemed to dig into 
my very vitals and drag from me each unwilling 
response. 


144 


SILENCE 


“Cassaway.” 

“Why?” 

“For information.” 

“About whom?” 

“Scencio’s wife.” 

“Where is she?” 

“I do not know.” 

“Does Cyrus?” 

“No.” 

“Does Cassaway?” 

“I think so.” 

“Have you an idea as to her present where- 
abouts? 

“Yes.” 

“Do you believe that you could name with any 
accuracy the place where she is hid?” 

“Probably.” 

“W’^here?” 

“Across the street.” 

“In Cassa way’s apartments?” 

“Yes.” 

“What do you think of the Woman in Purple?” 
Convulsive chills shook my entire body at this 
unlooked-for query, yet the answer, like the 
rest, was drawn from my unwilling lips by the 
art of this avowed sorceress. 

“That she’s a siren.” 

“And lured your friend from moral rectitude?” 


BESTED 


145 


^^And lured him to his downfall/^ 

^^You are very candid.’’ 
am.” 

^^And Cyrus, what thinks he of me? Do you 
believe within your secret soul that the man is 
vulnerable? Do you believe that I could subju- 
gate him to my will, make him slave to my love 
and affection?” 

''I do.” 

^^Would you help me to the triumph of my pur- 
pose?” 

would not.” 

^ Would you oppose my wish?” 
would.” 

^^And why?” 

^^For the honor of his name and that of his 
wife.” 

^^His wife?” 

^^Yes.” 

^^She is not worthy his love; she is no inspira- 
tory help to him; she will drag him to the ditch, 
to the madhouse and to an early grave.” 

^^And you to the bowels of hell.” 

I perceived the carmine mantle her cheeks and 
eyes glare at me with impotent fury; I felt that 
murder ravaged her thoughts, her soul, and trem- 
bled at what might be my lot if help did not 
reach me in another moment. 


146 


SILENCE 


^What am I?’’ circling my wrists with fingers 
that were hot as fire with demoniacal venom. 

— witch/’ I spurted, a babe in the toils of 
this creature that had so completely bested me. 

^^You fear me, and it is well that you do. My 
mind is capable of subordinating you to my every 
whim and fancy. I can enslave you, make of 
your plastic mind a puppet to my will, and the 
first result of my real experiment you know. I 
cannot enthrall the god-like spirit of your chum 
Cyrus; I cannot bring him under my magnetic 
influence, for w^hen a positive and negative force 
meets there is bound to be more or less friction. 

4 The electrical forces of his nature equal mine. 
The magnetic crystals in his brain are even more 
potent than mine and only lack proper de- 
velopment. But I’ll succeed, nevertheless, and 
through your agency. I am fully determined to 
save him from the impending evil which looms 
before him in my perspective like a falling ava- 
lanche of earth and stone from the heights of a 
mountain. His dormant genius I will spur to 
action, to active life, and make him paint as he 
never has done before. I’ll pose for him in all 
the sublime nudity of my loveliness, and eat my 
way into his heart and soul with assumed op- 
position and with devouring fervor. And you 
will be the agency of my will, the potent factor 


BESTED 


147 


used to bring to the point of materialization my 
set purpose and desire.” 

Then came silence; the stillness of the tomb 
reigned supreme for, it seemed to me, hours; the 
■face of the woman was dissolving into a greenish- 
like vapor, and finally appeared to fioat toward 
the ceiling and disappear completely from my 
view as I, chained in the lethargic spell of some 
conjured force, lost my senses in the mantle of 
oblivion. 

Just what took place to me that night in the 
woman’s eerie apartments is veiled in more or 
less mystery. I can only state with any show of 
lucidness the incidents occurring from the time 
when a voice, to me thunderous in its intonation, 
addressed me with a ringing command : 

“Wake up!” 

“By my halidom !” and I thought that I was the 
Brince of Wales in Shakespeare’s play Henry IV. 
and that I was addressing Palstaff. “That vil- 
lainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, 
that old white-bearded Satan.” 

Shakespeare was my hobby — each and every 
one of us has one — and I must have been dream- 
ing of the first part of Henry IV., going through 
the first act and awakening at the strange com- 
mand when rehearsing the fourth scene in Act II. 

“I am here,” said a musical voice, so different 


148 


SILENCE 


tfrom the one that had addressed me so brusquely 
hut a moment ago. And instantly I turned 
around and looked and stared, did I, in conster- 
nation, and shook with the palsy of suffocating 
passion, for before me, not five feet away, stood the 
fairest vision, in the shape of the mysterious wom- 
an, that I have as yet seen. The symmetrical out- 
lines of her glowing flesh, roseate with the flush 
of life, showed clear and distinct from beneath a 
softly clinging Oriental costume of a transparent 
gauze-like fabric, and I, caught in the vise-like 

snare of the most potent weapon of Satan, , 

lost my honor and respect as I fell a technical 
leper to the wiles of this woman so terribly tempt- 
ing and fascinating. 

“Would you have me?” 

“Yes,” I whispered, the sweat leaving me in 
huge, cold drops. 

“And would you cherish me? Love me until 
your bones should be shoveled out of sight?” 

“I will,” and I started toward her, my object 
being to crush her to my mad bosom, when I was 
stayed by: 

“What do you see?” 

“A madly ravishing figure of a woman, whose 
semi-nudity drives me to the point of frenzied 
hope and love.” 

“Are you morally certain?” 


BESTED 


149 


“Yes. I’ll swear it.” 

“And perjure your soul.” 

“Never! I see you; I even feel the warm heat 
of your body, the tingling blood in your veins and 
arteries ” 

S “If this is so, then who is this at your right?” 

I spun around, and, with a cry of rage and de- 
spair, made a sudden advance upon the double of 
the mysterious woman, then halted spasmodically,, 
stared at the immovable figure in its gauzy dra- 
pery, then at the figure in green, and, with a cry of 
terror, snatched my hat and coat and fled the 
Sodomitical apartments of conjured shapes and 
fancies. 


CHAPTER XL 


EEBUFFED. 

I am not addicted to the use of profane lan- 
guage, but upon my entrance to the world with- 
out I used the language of the accursed. I tore 
my hair in frenzy, in addling rage I glared at the 
sun high in the heavens as I made my way to the 
drug store at the corner to see what hour of the 
day it might be. And when I noticed the time, 
0. 10 A. M. I consigned the Woman in Purple to 
the shades of Hades and made my way to my 
office where I at once made the wire hum with my 
frantic call for a certain police station. 

What must Cyrus think of me who had lured 
him to a brothel shop, got him drunk, took his 
money and left him to muse over the strange dis- 
appearance of his chum? 

I was furious. I could not go in person, for 
then I should be haled before a magistrate and 
made to answer to the charge of drunkenness and 
disorderly conduct. 


160 


REBUFFED 


151 


^^Hello came over the ’phone. 

^^Hello!” I shouted, ^4s this the police station?” 

'Tes.” 

^^You have a gentleman by name of James .Var- 
muchii locked up for assault and battery?” 

^^One moment.” 

Then after a lapse of thirty seconds: ^^No. His 
name, though, is on the blotter, together with six- 
teen others. But he is not here.” 

^What!” I shouted. 

^^No, sir. But who are you?” 

lawyer,” and I gave him my correct name 
and address. 

^The gentleman in question was bailed out last 
night, or to be more specific, this a. m., about 
three o’clock, by a woman unknown.” 
woman?” 

'^Yes.” 

^^Can you describe her?” 

^^One moment.” 

First I heard the distinct conversation be- 
tween two men, then a clear voice addressed me: 

''Hello!” 

"Hello!” 

"The woman was dressed in purple.” 

The receiver dropped from my hands and I 
staggered to the nearest chair, where, helpless 


152 


SILENCE 


and stunned, I sat for at least twenty minutes, 
overcome at this sudden shock. 

“The Woman in Purple!” I exclaimed. “How 
in the name of sanity did she find out the number 
of the police station; and when did she go?” 

Ostensibly I had gone to get the necessary 
amount of his bail (|500), ostensibly I had been 
trapped and held a prisoner whilst my captor 
wormed from me the secret of my soul, and leav- 
ing me in a trance had made haste to act the 
good Samaritan to my friend. And now, where 
was he? Where was his wife? And where was 
Wilburt Cassaway, Jr.? 

Like one possessed, I hastened from my office 
to the street below, took a cab and flew in post 
haste to the former apartments of the Scencios, 
where in trepidation and fear I stood before the 
door and awaited the cooling of my excited 
nerves. Finally I knocked for admission, then 
listened. 

Eeceiving no reply, I knocked again, somewhat 
louder. 

Evidently the room was deserted, so going 
down the corridor to the door leading to the bed- 
room, I placed my ear to the keyhole and listened 
for several moments, but all was still. 

Battling with the doubts that harassed my 
soul, with the anxiety for the welfare of my 


REBUFFED 


153 


chum, I left the place and returned to my own 
apartments, where I had hoped to find Cyrus 
awaiting me. 

I figured thus: As a possible contingency it 
would be most natural for him to make his way 
to my bachelor establishment immediately upon 
his release from the police station, so with new 
hopes I entered my rooms and shot a swift, vivid 
glance in each direction. 

They were empty! 

Cursing and swearing in short, sharp, convul- 
sive gasps as I paced to and fro in furious strides, 
like a beast in a menagerie, I rehearsed the 
drama so far enacted during the last twenty-four 
hours, and to add to my rage, I saw myself 
throughout the spectacle in the role of a drivel- 
ing idiot. 

I had gone to the rooms of the woman across 
the street with the avowed intention of worm- 
ing from her secret soul the knowledge that I felt 
convinced she was harboring, only to have the lat- 
ter turn the tables on me and force me to reveal 
the doubts and fears of my harassed soul through 
her devilish machinations. 

And as I bethought myself of what had come 
to me in the weird rooms at No. 16, I went to the 
window and shook my helpless fist at the house 


154 


SILENCE 


across the way, then gasped in consternation and 
dismay. 

On the stoop stood Cyrus, and what a specta- 
cle! He was hatless and coatless, his hair in wild 
disorder, his face blue with cold, and his eyes! 

“Great Heavens!” I shouted, and racing 
through the rooms I took the stairs three flights 
at a time, and tore across the street like an es- 
caped lunatic. 

Up the stairs ran Cyrus, and I after him as fast 
as my legs could propel me. 

“At last!” he rasped as lie burst the door open 
and stepped into the room. 

In terror I stopped my momentum spasmodic- 
ally at sight of the round-headed hammer in his 
right hand, a hammer that boded ill in the hand 
of the outraged man before me. 

“Silence!” calling as he looked about the room. 
“Ah!” and he stood erect, whilst the hunted look 
upon his face began to give way by degrees. 

I placed myself at an advantageous position 
where I could see without exposing myself un- 
necessarily. And as I did so, I beheld the self- 
same spectacle of the past night standing in the 
centre of the room, and garbed in the identical 
clinging ganze, motionless as when last I had 
seen it. 

“I have come to you. Silence, as you knew I 


REBUFFED 


155 


would, either sooner or later,” and with a loud 
thud the hammer fell from his hand to the floor 
as he advanced several feet toward the statue- 
like flgure of Silence. 

“My wife has broken her vow,” and a sob 
seemed to rise to his throat and choke him for a 
moment. 

“So she has left your bed?” 

I tried to shout a warning to my crazed friend 
at the soimd of the feminine voice coming from 
an opposite direction tha-n that of the veiled fig- 
iire, but my tongue, confound it! refused to articu- 
late, refused to utter a sound. 

“Yes, she left me the day before yesterday. The 
Great Spirit above,” holding his trembling hand 
above his head, “knows that I tried to make her 
happy, that I did my duty as a husband, that I 
loved and cherished her with the faithfulness of 
a slave.” 

“And why do you tell me your tale of woe?” 

“Because you can advise and console me.” 

‘^o other reason?” 

I’ll swear upon my honor as a lawyer and a 
gentleman that as I looked at the face of the 
woman that no sound left her roseate lips, yet 
whence came the voice of the speaker? 

“I’m dying for love, for want of affection, for 
peace of mind and soul, and,” advancing a step, 


156 


SILENCE 


“if you do not give it me I will kill myself with 
poison, leap from the end of a ferryboat or from 
the heights of the Brooklyn Bridge and make an 
end of this living hell.” 

“It is your own fault.” 

“How so?” 

“You were offered fame, renown and love, and 
you spurned it with the bombastic declaration of 
H^or the honor of your name and the virtue of 
your wife.’ Where is your wife, your honor?” 

“Lost! Lost! Lost!” 

“Then find it, and after having found it, return 
to me and I will see whether I can be a comfort 
to you.” 

“I want you now, this moment,” savagely. 

“And it happens that you want something, too, 
that has to be denied you, for a time at least.” 

“Why?” 

“Because, sir, for some time to come my affec- 
tions are in the keeping of a little bearded man, 
who dotes upon my beauty, wit and culture.” 

“Bangs!” he shouted, gnashing his teeth fu- 
riously. 

I was paralyzed at the utter audacity of this 
woman. I was a seething cauldron of murder, 
though powerless to lift a hand or foot. 

“I’ll kill him, the whelp! That’s why he left 


REBUFFED 


157 


me in that dirty police station and decamped 
with my money, eh?/ 

^^Because he has accepted what you spumed 
with contempt? You were offered the rarest 
jewel in my possession, and you refused it. Affec- 
tion such as no man ever received from a woman 
was tendered you, yet you would have none of it. 
So leave this room at once for I expect company.’^ 

''I will not!'' 

will summon the police if you do not make 
a hasty exit." 

am desperate. My mind is in chaos, the 
sanctity of my house has been ravaged anew, and 
I am mad, mad with the lust of murder. So do 
not goad me if you value your life and mine." 

^^What have I to do with your domestic woes?" 
want consolation." 

^Will you leave this room?" 

^‘1 will not." 

^^Then in defense of honor I shall ring for the 
police," and the next moment the tintinnabula- 
tion of a bell sounded through the room. 

^^I'll kiss you if I die!" and he caught the figure 
in his arms and held it with a vise-like grip as he 
pressed his fiame-red lips to it. 

Slowly, with glassing eyes and indrawn breath, 
he receded from the figure, his dark orbs never 
leaving it for a moment. 


158 


SILENCE 


What had happened? I asked myself as I 
divided my attention between the two malcon- 
tents. I saw no palpable move from the woman, 
yet Cyrus acted as if he had been stung. Impas- 
sively she stood there, unresponsive and silent. 

Then, terror or terrors! He snatched the ham- 
mer from the floor, sprang to the woman and with 
a savage oath, it descended and crashed into the 
skull. 

And in the excitement I forgot the i)eril of my 
life and the condition of the man. With three 
bounds I had him by the scruff of the neck and 
was dragging him toward the door and into the 
hall, when he suddenly turned upon me with alb 
his insane fury, and fought me against the wall, 
where he bit and chewed me as if he were a jun- 
gle beast unleashed. 

“You! You!” and upon the floor I was thrown 
with giant force, whilst his fingers clawed my 
face and choked my throat until my very tongue 
hung blue from my mouth. 

“I’ll kill you. Bangs!” 

The tumult in the corridor was deafening; and, 
only after a reporter and three policemen clubbed 
my friend from my prostrate body did I realize 
the full gravity of my position. 

Painfully I rose to my feet, readjusted my col- 
lar and cravat, and, as I was about to render an 


REBUFFED 


159 


explanation to the guardians of the peace, the 
Woman in Purple entered the hall. 

^^Arrest that man, officers!’^ 

^What has he done?’’ from one of the police- 
men. 

^^He has demolished a priceless statue in wax.” 

^Wax!” gasped Cyrus, whilst I was struck 
dumb at the woman’s announcement. 

believe that he is the same individual who 
stole my pearls some four months ago, but re- 
turned them for some inexplicable reason.” 

^‘You lie!” and he made a savage spring toward 
her, but was checked by the officers. 

What’s your name?” asked the presiding officer. 

^^Cyrus Scencio.” 

^^Do not believe him, officer. He bears a won- 
derful resemblance to the artist Scencio, and is 
trading on this knowledge.” 

^^Are you Cyrus Scencio?” 
am,” losing his temper now. 

^Wou lie, sir!” 

^^Bangs, you scoundrel! you know that I am 
what I claim to be. Then why espouse this 
woman’s cause?” 

^W^ho’s Bangs? I am sure that you do not 
know what you are talking about.” 

^What!” he shouted as he stared at me in fury. 


160 


SILENCE 


“I never heard of the gentleman. My name is 
Fitzpatrick, if you please.” 

“When friends lie about their own identity and 
denounce their lifelong chums it is time for a 
man to seek other haunts.” 

“Are you two acquainted?” asked one of the 
officers of me. 

“Only casually. In fact, we met for the 
first time but yesterday, in a barroom on 59th 
street, where he introduced himself as an Italian 
nobleman, giving the name of Varmuchii.” 

“Bangs, you villain!” and he frothed at the 
mouth with his terrible rage consuming his 
senses. 

“Officers, I happen to be personally acquainted 
with the gentleman whose unsullied name this 
man is endeavoring to bring into this disgraceful 
scene. His first name is Everett; he is a well- 
knowm lawyer, and is unlike, either in face, figure 
or dress, this gentleman who announces himself 
as Fitzpatrick. 

“You lie!” shrieked Cyrus, stamping his foot 
and glaring at the unflinching w'oman with burn- 
ing eyes of wrath. 

“My name is Fitzpatrick, Henry Fitzpatrick, 
and yours is James Varmuchii, the scalawag 
who got me into an ugly barroom brawl, where 
we were arrested, carried off to jail, and where I,, 


REBUFFED 


161 


Henry Fitzpatrick, bailed myself out; and, be- 
lieving in your probity and honor, sent my sister 
to the station about three o’clock this morning 
with five hundred dollars, the amount of your 
bail. Why lie about your identity?” 

I was furious at the chump’s stupidity. Here 
we were doing our utmost to shield his real iden- 
tity, and yet with the obstinacy of an ass the fool 
persisted in saying that he was Cyrus Scencio ! 

To the police station we went for a second time, 
where, after ’phoning to the precinct named, my 
asseverations were confirmed beyond the point 
of cavil or of doubt. 

Again I bailed myself out (the amount was but 
$25.00) only to be rearrested as I was in the act of 
leaving, for my non-appearance at Court to an- 
swer to the charge of drunkenness and disorderly 
conduct. 

In a separate cell from that of my friend I was 
locked, and in the very long hours that followed 
I gave my thoughts full scope. Inadvertently I 
had bungled, and that most idiotically. And be- 
ing a lawyer, and well versed in the statute 
laws of my city, I had no palpable excuse to offer 
in extenuation of my puerile folly, save, perhaps, 
the poor one of excitement. And so the time 
passed by in long, dragging stages; dusk and night 
Ifound me in my self-same posture; for the nonce 


162 


8ILENG£ 


a defeated man, and swamped in the lagoon of 
misery, doubt and despair. 


CHAPTER XII. 

SUNDERING THE BONDS. 

I was in a quandary. All I had to do if I cared 
to free myself was to announce my true identity, 
tell the truth, and the case against me would have 
been dropped, as far as I was concerned. The 
revelation of my true status in this community, 
though, would have divulged the name of my 
chum, whereupon the cat would have been out 
of the bag and the papers would have been teem- 
ing with the news of his domestic eruption. No, 
I would fight the case as best I could. I would 
persist in my present course and win the battle 
with flying colors. Just what my modus operandi 
would be depended upon that of the prosecutor’s^ 

The night had been bestial with the drunken 
shouts and singing of a dozen men in as many 
cjblls, and I welcomed the advent of morning with 
open heart and arms. 

To pass away the time between dawn and the 
liour set for court to open — 9 A. M. — I sent for a 

163 


164 


SILEN.CE. 


paper, with the intention of thus passing the 
hours in reading the news. 

And I read, too, and faith, the news that stared 
me in the face, in great big, glaring type, caused 
me to tremble in every fibre of my animation. 

“SCANDAL IN HIGH LIFE!” 

“Yesterday one of our reporters stumbled upon 
a real scoop in the way of a tragedy, witnessing 
in person the ending of the last scene in Act 1. 
Married in haste to repent at leisure seems to be 
the case of the Cassaways and the Scencios. And 
to make things more melodramatic and spicy, a 
lawyer named Everett Bangs, and a mysterious 
Woman in Purple are figuring more or less con- 
spicuously in the case.” 

I swore lustily at this mention of my name, 
then proceeded to digest this most delectable 
news. 

“It was in June that the son of Wilburt Cassa- 
way, Sr., owner of one of our contemporary news- 
papers, and his chum, a gifted artist named Cyrus 
Scencio, celebrated a double wedding in the Lit- 
tle Church Around the Corner; and, after the 
usual wedding breakfast, spent their joint honey- 
moon in parts unknown. Just why the elder 
Cassaway’s paper made no announcement of his 
son’s marriage has been the topic of keen specu- 
lation and conjecture for several months. Yes- 


SUNDERING THE BONDS 


165 


terday, through a strange coincidence, the secret 
leaked out that the son had married against his 
papa’s wishes, and was subsequently dismissed 
from the editorial staff and disinherited. 

^^The two couples, upon their return from their 
honeymoon, rented suites in a fashionable apart- 
ment house on Sixtieth street, near Fifth avenue. 
Andy to make their new lives interesting, the 
bachelor friend of the couples. Bangs, must per- 
force move his quarters to the same establish- 
ment, where all was love and good cheer until 
Act I, Scene 1, when the beautiful Woman in 
Purple made her debut at a suite of elaborate 
rooms across the street at No. 16. 

^^The woman, educated, refined, and beautiful 
as an houri, has so far succeeded in shrouding her 
identity in impenetrable mystery. A reporter 
learned that a real estate broker named Stewart 
was the lessee of the woman’s apartments, but 
that is the gist of the information procurable re- 
garding this modern Helen. 

^Westerday suits for absolute divorce were in- 
stituted by Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., against his 
wife Florence, who prior to her marriage was a 
Miss Esty, one of the younger membervS of smart 
society, naming Everett Bangs, the friend and 
lawyer, as co-respondent; and Mrs. Janice Scencio 
against her husband, the artist, Cyrus Scencio, 


166 


SILENCE 


naming the Woman in Purple as co-respondent, 
against whom a separate suit is to be filed to-day 
for 150,000 for alienating her husband’s affec- 
tions. Mrs. Scencio was a Miss La Trube, of New 
Orleans, La., a beauty of rare wit, possessing a 
wonderful ability for classical music, and is a 
member of aristocratic society. 

^^Bangs and the husband of Mrs. Scencio were 
arrested Thanksgiving Day for assault and bat- 
tery, drunkenness and disorderly conduct, and 
lodged in jail, where Bangs deposited |200 as bail 
for his appearance at court to answer the charges 
against him, and left. About 3 A. M. the myste- 
rious Woman in Purple appeared at the police 
station and gave bail for Cyrus Scencio, whose 
name was entered on the blotter as James Var- 
muchii. The amount was |500. Both Bangs, 
who had given the name of Henry Fitzpatrick, 
and Cyrus Scencio, alias James Varmuchii, for- 
feited their bail, for neither appeared in court 
when their names were called. 

^^Yesterday, at about 10.25 A. M., whilst the 
reporter was on his way to cover a fire in Harlem, 
he heard wild shouting before the apartment 
house of No. 16, where lives the mysterious 
Woman in Purple, and the scene that he 
witnessed was a disgrace to civilization. Bangs 
was lying on the fioor in the hall and Cyrus 


SUNDERING THE BONDS 


167 


Scencio on top of him, pounding away on the for- 
mer's face until it was unrecognizable; and the 
cause of this catastrophe, the Woman in Purple, 
stood calmly in the threshold of her door and 
watched the bloody encounter. Only the timely 
arrival of three policemen prevented an act of 
murder. 

^^Each combatant was arrested. Bangs denied 
his own identity and that of his one-time bosom 
friend, Scencio. The woman denied Scencio’s as- 
sertion that Bangs was Bangs and not Fitzpat- 
rick, and that said Scencio was not Scencio, but a 
masquerader who had on a former occasion hy- 
pothecated a priceless string of pearls belonging 
to her, and returned them for an unknown rea- 
son. Scencio swore that he was the artist, that 
Bangs was Bangs and not Fitzpatrick, called the 
Tvoman a liar and denounced his friend as a scoun- 
drel. 

^What these two were doing in the apartments 
of the woman needs an investigation by the po- 
lice. A beautiful life-size wax statue, an exact 
reproduction of the Woman in Purple,, was 
smashed with a boilermaker’s hammer in the 
hands of Scencio. How came these two in the 
woman’s rooms? The artist (Scencio) when ar- 
rested, had neither coat, hat nor collar, though 
the thermometer was below freezing. Why does 


168 


SILENCE 


the woman in question deny the identity of Cyrus 
Scencio and the law’yer, Bangs? Why does Bangs 
deny his own identity and that of his chum, Cy- 
rus, and why does Scencio persist in his assertion 
that he is the artist, when the day before yester- 
day he reiterated his assertion that he was Var- 
muchii? 

“Probably when Scene 1, Act ii, opens in the 
way of a hearing of the two divorce cases, inter- 
esting developments will be brought to light that 
will shame the face of every respectable citizen 
of this community. And it is a foregone conclu- 
sion that the paper of the elder Cassaway will 
have nothing to say, that it will be silent as a 
Sphinx, as the courts thresh this example of So- 
ciety’s rotten members and expose the gilded 
cesspool, reeking with the stench of debauchery, 
vice and crime.” 

I threw the yellow sheet on the floor and 
ground it with the heel of my foot as I swore the 
vilest oaths that man ever conceived; I battered 
against the bars of my cell and tore my hair in 
frenzied rage and despair, for the paper lied,, its 
inference was damnable against my reputation 
and my character; its allusions, so daringly 
'drawn, robbed me of the wonted respect of my 
fellow-citizens, and branded me a scoundrel black 
as hell. 


SUNDERING THE BONDS 


169 


‘‘A caller to see you,” said a policeman as lie un- 
locked the door of my putrid cell and led me to 
the Captain’s private office, where, face blue with 
wrath, stood Wilburt Cassaway, Sr. 

“Mr. Fitzpatrick, this gentleman wishes to 
sp^eak to you,” and as he spoke I noted a faint 
smile hover at the corners of his mouth. 

“This farce has gone too far. I am Everett 
Bangs, the lawyer, as you are aware, provided, 
of course, that you have read the yellow sheet 
that exploited a double column of damnable lies 
and fables regarding my friend Cyrus Scencio, his 
wife and Mrs. Cassaway.” 

“Everett,” and the poor old father of Wilburt 
brushed the tears from his face as he grabbed my 
hand. “Tell me that the paper lied, that you 
are innocent of the charges launched against 
you.” 

“Mr. Cassaway, if I lie I hope that a bolt of 
lightning will descend from the heavens and 
strike me dead where I stand. By the faith of 
my fathers and the God above us, I swear that 
I am innocent!” 

“Send for Mr. Scencio, Captain.” 

“As you wish, Mr. Cassaway,” and he gave or- 
ders to have Cyrus appear in his private office 
at once. 

“Bangs,” possessing himself of both of my 


170 


SILENCE 


hands, “I am worth close to nine million dollars, 
and every dollar of it will be spent to clear the 
foul charges against you, my daughter-in-law and 
Cyrus. All I ask of you is to help me in this 
forthcoming battle. Oh, the shame! the shame!'’ 
and he wept as few men are called upon to weep 
in a lifetime. 

“Ef, forgive me,” and Cyrus held his hands 
toward me as he entered the room, again his for- 
mer self. 

“Friend,” gripping his hand, “I forgive you. 
And where before I stood by your side and fought 
for your happiness, I now lay aside the business 
cares of my office and devote my energy to the 
clearing of your honor and your name.” 

“So far neither has been assailed.” 

I said nothing. Why broach the terrible news 
when others could do so without rending their 
hearts with sorrow? 

“Cyrus.” 

“Sist!” winking at the tear-stained face of the 
elder man. 

“Mr. Scencio, there need be no further call for 
shrouding your identity. And allow me to say 
that you may speak in my presence without res- 
ervation.” 

“W^hat has happened?” shaking Mr. Cassaway’s 
hand in a friendly clasp. 


SUNDERINa THE BONDS 


171 


“A great many things of late to make an old 
man sorrow, Cyrus. But first,” turning toward 
the Captain, “is there no way to nol-pros the double 
charges against my friends here?” 

“I do not know. I think, though, that it is 
just possible that something might be done with 
the Judge.” 

“Before whom will the cases be tried?” 

“O’Shaughnessy. Do you know him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t place too much hope on the issue 
though, Mr. Cassaway; for, as you are aware, 
O’Shaughnessy is a man who will not deviate an 
iota from the restricted line of demarcation be- 
tween right and wrong, nor will a fixed emolu- 
ment help him to see your way. All I can advise 
is, that you state the full particulars in a type- 
written letter, and send it to him by messenger 
at the hour of opening of court.” 

I was about to speak to Cyrus when a mut- 
tered invective passed his compressed lips. 

During the Captain’s speech he had glanced 
at the latter’s desk, and in doing so caught sight 
of the blaring headlines in red, and the succeed- 
ing sixteen-point type announcement of our ar- 
rest. 

“Let me see this paper. Captain.” 


172 


SILENCE 


He read it, word for word, and as he did so, he 
ground his teeth in simon rage and anger. 

‘‘The fidelity and virtue of my wdfe is robbed 
me, my marriage-bed is outraged, my honor and 
respect trampled upon as a noxious weed; the 
woman who swore to me upon her bended knees 
besmears my name with acts of violence, and 
brands you, friend Bangs, a scoundrel who stole 
the affections of another man’s wife. Hell!” and 
the desk rattled as his clenched fist smote it with 
redoubled fury and rage. “I’ll make your son, 
Mr. Cassaway, bite the dust of death; I’ll make 
the woman who would drive me to the level of a 
brute, dye the earth with her cankerous blood; 
I’ll wipe them from the face of respectability and 
hurl them to the devouring abyss of unexplored 
eternity.” 

The Captain had risen, and stood at the end of 
the desk, struck dumb with fear and amazement; 
Mr. Cassaway had receded toward the wall, with 
lips convulsed with undreamt agony; and I, ter- 
rorized at the vehemence of his speech, quaked in 
jny shoes with fear and horror at this trans- 
formed vision of the friend and brother of my 
early youth, now the very apotheosis of an aveng- 
ing Nemesis. 

Little more was said by either of us. In the 
custody of a plain-clothes man we went to a near- 


SUNDERING THE BONDS 


173 


by restaurant and made a most miserable at- 
tempt of justice to the palatable breakfast. The 
truth is that we were too full with our emotions 
to feel the effects of our long fast. 

Judge O’Shaughnessy received the message from 
Mr. Cassaway; but, entering the courtroom an 
hour later, I lost all hope of clemency as I began 
to study his features. However, Mr. Cassaway 
told me not to despair, that things could be a 
great deal worse than they were, and that he be- 
lieved the Judge would consider the facts as they 
stood, and exercise as much leniency as was com- 
patible to the offense. 

As Fitzpatrick and Varmuchii we were tried, 
and as Fitzpatrick and Varmuchii we were fined 
the identical amount of our respective bail, for- 
feited by us on Thanksgiving Day. 

Leaving the court room we at once repaired to 
my office, where it was agreed that Cyrus bring a 
countersuit for divorce against his wife, Janice, 
and that detectives be hired to shadow the young- 
er Cassaway and Mrs. Scencio. 

At first Cyrus demurred, but was finally won 
to the proposal by the joint efforts of Mr. Cassa- 
way and myself. 

Immediately I set to work in filling out the pa- 
pers naming Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., as co-respond- 
ent, had them filed, and, with the understanding 


174 


SILENCE 


With the aged father of Wilburt that we make 
my office a sort of rendezvous in the future, we 
departed, Cyrus and myself taking a cab and be- 
ing driven to the Grand Central Depot, where 
we took a train for Troy, and where the sale of 
the farm was placed in the hands of a broker. 
All the furniture and personal effects of the 
Scencios were sold at auction, save such things as 
Cyrus’ wearing apparel and his canvases, and in 
twenty-four hours we were back in New York 
again and seated in my den, prepared for any- 
thing that might chance our way, 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FBUSTRATED. 

There appears on the face of the evidence on 
hand no palpable reason for the strange conduct 
of the wife of Cyrus Scencio. She possessed an 
affectionate husband, a talented one, who in due 
course of time would have made her the proudest 
woman on earth; their social position was unas- 
sailable; she possessed beauty, talent, and a cer- 
tain amount of the world’s goods inherited from 
an aunt. Why, then, drive her chosen spouse to 
the point of desperation and of despair? 

She had left Cyrus painting in his studio the 
day preceding Thanksgiving, and with an affec- 
tionate adieu departed with the announcement 
that he could expect her return not later than 
five P. M. 

Leaving the Grand Central Station, she took a 
hansom and was driven to a fashionable depart- 
ment store on Twenty-third street,, where she- 

175 


176 


SILENCE 


purchased sundry articles dear to the feminine 
heart. 

In front of the store, in a large touring car, sat 
Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., and as Mrs. Scencio 
reached the pavement he coughed, she looked up, 
and their eyes met. 

“Janice!” springing from the automobile and 
hastening to her side. “Where have you been? 
And you treated me so shamefully,” deprecating- 
ly, as he took one of her hands in his and pressed 
it affectionately. 

“Wilburt, please don’t,” and something like a 
line of pain appeared at the corners of her mouth. 

“Quick, Janice, here comes my wife and fa- 
ther!” and in a trice he had her in the auto and 
was away, speeding up Fifth avenue and laugh- 
ing up his sleeve at the adroit ruse. 

“Would you mind a private luncheon at Mar- 
tin’s or Sherry’s?” 

“No.” 

“Where shall it be?” 

“Sherry’s.” 

“Good!” 

“Wilburt,” she asked when they were seated in 
a private room, “are you still living apart from 
your wife?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why do you not return to her?” 


FRUSTRATED 


177 


^^You ask me?’’ and his face frowned. ^^Yon 
know why.” 

^^Haven’t you forgotten me in these past 
months?” 

^^Can I forget? Can I wipe from my memory 
the knowledge of the past, the sweet remem- 
brance of your face, your form, your love and 
kisses? No.” 

^^Those days are past, irrevocably and irretriev- 
ably past.” 

no, they’re not.” 

^^And why not?” 

^^Because you cannot forget what I was to you, 
what I am to you even after a lapse of several 
months. I love you, Janice, I love you with a 
wild abandonment of my heart. When I think 
of you waves of fire seem to sweep my senses and 
consume me with the desire for your love. You 
are not happy and contented in your imposed 
exile; you are not your cheery self; and, Janice, 
you may as well confess the fact, the incontro- 
vertible fact ” 

^^That?” she interposed hastily as she leaned 
across the table and sought to read his very 
thoughts. 

^That you long for the return of the old re- 
gime.” 

^^How dare you, Wilburt Cassaway?” 


178 


SILENCE 


am a man of the world, and understand your 
sex, probably better than you do. At least I un- 
derstand one woman, and that^s yourself. Where 
have you been exiled?’’ 

^^On a dreary farm on the Hudson near Troy.” 

^^And Cyrus, how fares he?” 

all intents and purposes, happy. From 
early morn till sundown he paints, paints the for- 
ests, dells and skies, and when the chickens go to 
roost ” 

^Wou go to bed?” 

^We retire.” , 

^What a humdrum existence for a lady of your 
attainments. How can you stand it?” 

cannot endure it much longer,” sighing to 
herself as she thought of what awaited her on 
her return to Troy. 

^Tf this sort of existence is irksome to you, why 
not abrogate it?” 

have given it some consideration, but cannot 
see my way clear.” 

‘‘1 do, though.” 

'Wou?” 

^Wes. Do as I am going to do in a day or so 
and you will be free, free to act as you may elect.” 

^^And it is?” 

^^Apply for a divorce.” 

^^A divorce?” opening her eyes wide with aston- 


FRUSTRATED 


179 


ishment, ^^and have the horrid papers teem with 
it? Never! Again I have no justifiable grounds 
for such an action against Cyrus, even if I wished 
to entertain your suggestion for a moment/^ 
thousand grounds may be mentioned/’ 

^^For instance?” 

^^Incompatibility of temperament.” 

^^It would never do. I have not forgotten what 
took place in our apartments; and, were I to sue 
on such statutory grounds, Gyrus is certain to 
enter a countersuit charging infidelity and nam- 
ing you as co-respondent. No, it cannot be thought 
of. Everett Bangs would condescend to act as a 
witness for Cyrus, and you know what that would 
mean to both of us.” 

^^In suing for my divorce I am going to name 
him as co-respondent.” 

^Wilburt Cassaway!” 

What’s wrong? The proletarian caused our 
joint aches of heart and soul. And if I see fit to 
name him as the third party, that is my affair. 
And I’ll do it, too! or die in the attempt. And 
you,” catching hold of her trembling hands, ^^you 
are to name the Woman in Purple as the third 
party; then, to make things stronger, enter a sep- 
arate suit against the minx for alienating your 
husband’s affections, naming the amount of dam- 
ages at 150,000.” 


180 


SILENCE 


“The mysterious Woman in Purple?” 

“Why not? I saw your husband lavish his 
veerable affections upon the hussy; I saw their 
kiss of fire — they were mounted on a chair and 
locked in each other’s arms; I saw, too, the scene 
that took place in his office where the minx hyp- 
notized him with her devilish beauty as she 
stripped to the skin in a flash, and,, by heaven! 
she’s a goddess, dropped from the heavens, or 
Satan’s queen in human flesh.” 

“You saw such an act?” incredulously. 

“Aye, I saw the sweat of passion stand upon his 
brow like raindrops upon a sheet of glass; I saw 
a giant battle fought between blind passion and 
Dame Virtue, and the cataclysm lust, bred by the 
siren’s terrible beauty of pink flesh, won the bat- 
tle.” 

He was trading on the knowledge gleaned by 
him on that memorable day when he was trapped 
under the table and held a prisoner for several 
hours; however,, it answered his purpose. 

“Why did you not inform me of this sooner?” 

“I was given no opportunity.” 

“You could have written.” 

“And addressed it to the moon?” 

‘What was that noise, Wilburt?” 

“Where?” 

“I believe it came from the next room.” 


FRV8TBATED 


181 


hear nothing/’ after a pause. 

^‘Your revelations concerning Cyrus and the 
Woman in Purple has upset me terribly.” 

^^Do you know the siren’s name?” 
do not.” 

^^Neither do I. But I will, and that in the very 
near future. I have engaged two Pinkertons to 
ascertain her identity, her life’s history if possi- 
ble.” 

^^And why?” 

^Wou will need the information.” 
will?” 

^A^es. Provided, of course, that you wish to 
free yourself of the disgusting alliance that now 
fetters your will to the dog-like submission to tlie 
whims and fancies of a bloodless Bohemian.^^ 

^Y^ou evidently understand the characteristics 
of Cyrus. He’s as responsive to the thrills of a 
grand passion as a hen is to the lure of water. I 
cannot understand him. One would naturally 
come to the conclusion that a man like him, d(^ 
scendant of a race that has a national reputa- 
tion for their violent loves and hates, that he 
would be a veritable whirlwind of passion, 
though the exact opposite is his case. Oh, I am 
weary of the life, of the monotonous exile and tHe 
sight of paint and palette.” 


182 


SILENCE 


“You will not return to him to-night?” eagerly, 
as he scanned her flushed face. 

“I am not certain.” 

“I have taken your old apartments.” 

“You have?” 

“Yes.” 

“And why?” 

“Because it helps me to see the face and flgure 
of a woman I would not nor could not forget. It 
vivifles the perspective outline of her clinging 
form and sunlit tresses soft as down; keeps alive 
the sweet remembrance of the stolen sweets, the 
kisses that have seared my soul and made of me 
a maniac dying for the want of her who left me 
to the sorrow of an eating heart.” 

“Wilburt, shame! shame!” 

“I want you,” flercely, as he leaped to his feet 
and gripped her hands. “I want you for my own, 
and I’ll have you, too. I’ll put asunder the bonds 
that hold us both to unresponsive mates through 
the agency of the divorce courts, and ” 

“And smear my name with evil lies and per- 
jured oaths?” 

“You! Y’ou!” he hissed between his clenched 
teeth as he surveyed the Woman in Purple. “By 
heaven! I’ll kill you, flend!” and he snatched a 
large carving knife from the table and started 
toward the unflinching woman. 


FRUSTRATED 


183 


^Trobably your temper is in your touring car, 
sir. Had you not better send for it?’^ smiling 
sweetly as she pointed a glinting object at the 
infuriated man^s breast. 

^^Get out of here!^^ he thundered, as he glared 
in wrath at the menacing pistol. 

^^One moment, and I will be going. I was din- 
ing in the next room, and, Mr. Cassaway, I had 
an object in doing so. I saw you and Mrs. Scen- 
cio enter this establishment and, suppose I should 
say that feminine curiosity prompted me to ask 
’for the room next to yours 
You’d be lying, you cat!” 

Just what occurred to Wilblurt Cassaway, Jr., 
then is not recorded on the tablets of his memory, 
for it took place too suddenly for the tabulation 
of his sight. All he remembers is that there was 
a loud report, that the tears sprang to his eyes 
as something came in contact with his mouth 
with such force that it left a red streak from ear 
to ear, and that when he brushed the tears from 
his eyes that he saw nobody save his co-partner 
in crime seated in her chair and crying hyster- 
ically. 

Leaving the room he hurried his partner into 
the automobile and drove post haste to his apart- 
ments, his storm-swept soul straining at the leash 
of blind and impotent fury. 


184 


SILENCE 


“Be seated in the parlor whilst I divest myself 
of this fur coat,” and he held the portieres apart 
to allow Mrs. Scencio to enter. 

“Oh!” and she staggered backward, trembling 
like an aspen leaf. 

“What’s wrong?” from Wilburt, who had heard 
the exclamatory gasp. 

“Wilburt! Wilburt!” and Florence Cassaway, 
who had been seated in the parlor, sprang to her 
feet and started toward her husband. 

For the nonce he was dumbfounded. A con- 
tingency had arisen that virtually stultified his 
senses for several moments, one that he had not 
figured on as a possibility nor a probability. 

“I must be going,” whereupon Mrs. Scencio 
picked up her skirts and started toward the door, 
an act that brought Wilburt Cassaway to her side 
in a moment. 

“There need be no haste, Mrs. Scencio, for your 
train is not due for several hours. Will you not 
divest yourself of your hat and cloak?” taking 
the muff from her and placing it on the table. 

Submissively the woman did as she was bid, 
then stood against the mantel and studied the 
face of her erstwhile friend. 

“How came you to enter my apartments?” 
turning furiously upon the frail and delicate 
woman who bore his name. 


FRUSTRATED 


185 


^‘Do not be angry, Wilburt, for I am sick and 
worried to the point of distraction.” 

“Why have you come?” 

“To-morrow is Thanksgiving Day, dear; and, 
surely you do not propose to stay away from your 
wife and father on this great occasion. I came, 
to our old apartments, only to find strangers oc- 
cupying them. Inquiring at the desk, I was in- 
formed that you had taken the suite vacated by 
the Scencios, so with the clerk’s pass key I en- 
tered and have been awaiting your return for 
over an hour.” 

“I will have the clerk fired, the scoundrel!” 

“He, has done nothing wrong. Have I not a 
right to my husband’s quarters?” 

■“You have not.” 

“Wilburt,” falling on her knees before the 
heartless brute, “for the love of the child that is 
to be born I beg of you to leave these apartments 
and return with me to the home of your father.” 

“Child!” he gasped incredulously as he clenched 
his fists. 

“Yes, Wilburt, your child,” blushing as she 
bowed her head and shed the tears that came 
quick and fast. 

“Well, Madam,” sneeringly, “it is not my 
child.” 

“Oh!” and she staggered to her feet and reeled 


186 


SILENCE 


away from him, pierced at this cruelest blow that 
a man could inflict upon an innocent woman. 

^^You scoundrel! Whose child is it, then?^^ and 
Wilburt Cassaway, Sr., stepped forth from be- 
hind the portieres, livid with rage as he raised 
his cane above his head. 

^^Bangsd’^ he shouted savagely as he faced 
about and glared at his father. 

^Wou lie!^^ and the cane descended with all the 
force of the irate old man, catching the dodging 
son on the right shoulder. ^^Tahe your wife’s 
hand in yours 

Evidently he was frightened, otherwise, why 
did he act as he was commanded? 

^^Now drop on your knees and apologize, you 
brute,’’ and with raised cane he stood towering 
above his son, a fearful spectacle of an outraged 
sire. 

For a moment there was silence as young Cas- 
saway hesitated. Then, to his knees he dropped, 
overcome at the blind fury of the man who was 
his father. 

^^Florence, forgive me!” 

^^Get up now, you whelp, and make ready to 
leave. And you, Madam,” facing Mrs. Scencio, 
^^you leave, too, and return to your husband.” 

The fire of the woman’s soul had been aroused 
by this unlooked-for parental opposition, and, as 


FRUSTRATED 


187 


is invariably the case, the woman’s spontaneous 
ingenuity won the issue. 

^^As these apartments are mine; and, whereas 
I am the mistress in this establishment, it. falls to 
my lot to do the commanding if any is to be done. 
And, whereas your presence is most irksome to 
jny nerves and temperament, I ask that you va- 
cate at once.” 

^^Your apartments!” he fairly screamed in baf- 
fled rage. 

^^My apartments, sir.” 

''Is this so, Wilburt?” 

"How can you doubt the lady’s veracity?” 

"Then, Madam, I apologize.” 

"As I expect my husband in a few minutes, I 
must ask you to vacate immediately.” 

"Come Wilburt, your hat, and let us be going.” 

And when the Cassaways had departed, the 
voman locked the door, threw herself on the di- 
\an and gave free rein to her emotions. She 
wept, this high-bred woman, wept with a wild 
abandonment of grief inconsolable. Long into 
the night she lay there, moaning to herself and 
wishing that she were dead and buried. She was 
in love, knew it by all the physical tokens known 
to science,, but not with her husband. She had 
fought against the rampant desire to flee the 
country and hasten to New Y'ork and to the arms 


188 


SILENCE 


pf iier lover, who had roused her slumbering 
senses to the fold of a raging passion; and, now 
that she had braved the ordeal, she found herself 
alone, denied the comfort of the man’s love for 
whom she had staked her honor and her soul! 
placed herself in a position where, if she had 
thought of returning to her spouse, it was denied 
her. 

And,, what of the man in the case? He swore 
beneath his breath as he got into the automobile 
and was being driven in the direction of his 
father’s residence, racking his brains for a means 
of eluding the ordeal awaiting him when once he 
should be under his parent’s roof. He would es- 
cape it, he would circumnavigate the impending 
evil, but how? how to succeed, that was the para- 
mount question. 

There must be a grain of truth in the old adage 
that the Devil provides for his own; and the gen- 
tleman in question certainly did his level best for 
his sworn concomitant when Necessity reared her 
walls to the highest peak. 

The residence of the Cassaways was but a block 
away when the wooed succor came to the dis- 
tracted man in the shape of another automobile 
containing a friend. 

^^Hello, Wilburt!” called the individual in ques- 


FRUSTRATED 


189 


tion as he drove close to the car containing the 
Cassaways. 

^^Hello, George!’’ and Wilburt had the driver 
stop the car. 

^^Good evening, Mrs. Cassaway,” and shaking 
the elder Cassaway ’s hand. ^^Out for a spin? 
That’s good. I heard yesterday that you were 
under the weather. Keturn of the gout, I be- 
lieve? f 

^^Yes. I am much improved though, to-day.’^ 

^^By the way, Wilburt, young Sanderson had a 
painful accident about an hour ago. A Twenty- 
third street car caught his automobile on Sixth 
avenue and crushed it against an L pillar, mang- 
ling Sanderson frightfully. I’ve just come from 
his bedside and was on my way to your residence 
to see you.” 

^^And why?” mentally blessing his lucky star 
that at last escape was in sight. 

^^He says that you know something about the 
stock deal between him and Mitchell, and that un- 
less you close the transaction for him to-day that 
he will lose nearly $64,000. If you do not mind — 
I am certain that your wife and father will not 
object, seeing that this friend of yours is at 
death’s door — I’ll take you to th>e hospital in my 
car so as not to inconvenience your folks. Any- 


190 


SILENCE 


way, I promised to return with you at an early 
hour.” 

“Certainly, George. I’d be a cad not to see 
Sanderson in his present plight,” and into the 
next car he leaped and up the street they sped, 
leaving the elder Cassaway black with helpless 
wrath. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE TRAP. 

The night was fearfully cold^ yet Wilburt Cas- 
saway, Jr., haunted the southeast corner long 
into the night,, his storm collar up over his eyes 
and partially hiding his face as he divided his 
attention between the sentinel stationed in front 
of the apartment house and the windows of the 
suite once belonging to the Scencios. And when 
toward the break of dawn the sentry showed no 
evident signs of relinquishing his long vigil, Cas- 
saway took himself to his favorite club and 
passed Thanksgiving Day in a riot of drink, 
w^hilst the wife of Cyrus, having placed an un- 
spanable chasm between herself and her hus- 
band, spent the long hours of the morning in 
tears and sleep. 

The storm which had been raging for the past 
eighteen hours abated somewhat in its severity, 
and after a light luncheon she dressed,, left the 
apartments and paid a long visit to a certain 


192 


SILENCE 


lawyer’s office, where the first step for an absolute 
divorce was taken. 

And Wilburt, true to his oath, did likewise. 
What cared he for the good name of a man who 
was nothing to him? He had lost his conscience 
and his self-respect in his mad infatuation for a 
woman who was a wife, who was the helpmeet 
of his once chosen chum. Of his broken-heartedi 
spouse he thought not, for his gray-haired father 
he had no pity, of the outcome of the divorce pro- 
ceedings he cared not, save that he hoped to be free 
from a bondage that goaded his heart and soul. 

The night is most advantageous for the prowl- 
ing of vice and crime, and the soulless man, slave 
to the amour of unholy passion, found the noc- 
turnal stillness most propitious for his premedi- 
tated designs. 

It was the night following Thanksgiving Day 
that his patience was rewarded. The man who 
had been haunting the immediate vicinity of the 
apartment house failed to appear as usual, and 
Wilburt Cassaway profited by this long looked- 
for opportunity. 

Speeding up the three fiights of stairs, he hast- 
ened to the suite in question,, and with his latch- 
key entered the sitting-room. 

The w'oman’s face "was crimson, the paper in 
her hand shook, and when the man of hep 


TEE TRAP 


193 


thoughts made his presence known by a low 
cough, she leaped to her feet with a startled cry. 

“Do not be frightened, dear,” depositing his 
hat and gloves on the table and going up to her, 
where, after an affectionate kiss, they seated 
themselves and at once began to relieve their 
hearts of the burdens that so long had impinged 
them. 

“Wilburt!” 

“YeSj dear.” 

“Have you seen the papers? This edition?” hold- 
ing the paper toward him. 

“Yes, and,” laughing softly, “I am determined 
to profit by it.” 

“Profit?” 

“Most assuredly, and in a very ingenious man- 
ner at that. You read the beautiful article about 
your recalcitrant husband, the Woman in Purple, 
her duplicate in the shape of a wax statue, and 
that scoundrel Bangs?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, dear, an idea occurred to me as I read 
the article. But first, did you receive my note?” 

“I did, and had the lease of these apartments 
made out in my name five minutes after the re- 
ceipt of your letter.” 

“Bravo! You’re a little trump! Why did you 


194 


SILENCE 


not phone me at the club when you went to the 
lawyer’s office?” 

“I was afraid that somebody would overhear 
our conversation.” 

“Yesterday while standing on the opposite cor- 
ner and cursing the scalawag who has been shad- 
owing these apartments for the last two days, I 
noticed a large truck drive up to No. 16 across the 
street, in itself nothing to rouse the phlegmatic 
senses of the ordinary plebeian nor yours truly. 
But, when a beautiful woman in scarlet comes upon 
the scene there is to be news. Two men were carry- 
ing something between them, and, coming within 
observing distance, I perceived that the object they 
were handing o gingerly into the truck was the 
much talked-of wax figure of my Lady in Purple. 
Naturally I wondered what was to become of it. 
And when the truck started up the avenue, I got in- 
to an automobile and followed in their wake. Guess 
where the statue went?” 

“I could not guess if I would.” 

“To a sculptor’s studio on Tfiirty-fifth street.” 

“Ah, I see. It is to be put together again.” 

“Yes. The skull was caved in with the boiler- 
maker’s hammer in the hands of your infuriated 
husband, and in falling the wax lady broke her 
beautiful arms and legs. Now what would you 
do with the foregoing knowledge? Could you 


THE TRAP 


195 


put it to good effect, profit by it at the expense 
of, say, the owner?’’ 

“1 do not know.” 

“1 did, or to be more concise, I expect to.” 

^^How so?” 

^Through the agency of a modiste.” 
dressmaker!” 

^^Is this news so startling?” laughing merrily. 
^‘Listen, sweet: The idea occurred to me instant- 
ly. After making a memorandum of the sculp- 
tor’s address, I hastened to a modiste and gave 
a pressing order for a purple dress.” 

^^To be an exact reproduction of my lady’s across 
the street?” 

''Yes.” 

"How foolish of you!” 

"Why so?” 

"Wilburt, you have bungled. How can you 
give an order for a woman’s dress when you do 
not know her measurements, nor the style of the 
make-up?” 

"Is that so! Suppose I informed you that it 
was a princess, then what?” 

"I retract, for the dress in question is a prin- 
cess.” 

"As to the measurements, I took a gambler’s 
chance and guessed. I gave imperative orders 


196 


SILENCE 


that the dress be delivered at this address not 
later than 10 P. M. to-night.” 

“What for?” 

“And the wax figure will arrive at almost any 
second.” 

“The figure!” 

“And you are to array it in the purple dress, and 
then for the compromising situation.’ 

“With Cyrus?” 

“Softly!” lowering his voice. “Yes. About an 
hour after the figure arrived at the studio I en- 
tered, and delivering a few remarks concerning 
the weather, I gave instructions that the figure 
must be mended by 9 P. M. to-night; and, fearing 
that it might be damaged while in transit I had 
decided to send my own automobile for it. 
George Cluff is to call at the artist’s studio and 
deliver it at this address.” 

“And Cyrus, is he still in town?” 

“Oh, yes, eating his heart with remorse over 
the terrible rebuff administered him by the lady 
across the way. He is recuperating next door, 
across the way. He is recuperating next door, 
with Bangs, the officious gentleman who is to be 
caught in a trap to-night. I have had two notes pre- 
pared, one written by a waitress purporting to 
come from the mysterious lady and addressed to 
Cyrus, and the other written by Cluff and ad- 


THE TRAP 


197 


dressed to my wife, calling for an interview at 
her husband’s apartments. And if my calcula- 
tions do not go awry, both you and I will be in 
possession of our divorces in a very short time. 
For some reason or other you seem to doubt my 
assertion concerning Cyrus and the Woman in 
Purple. An ocular demonstration will convince 
you against your will, hence the premeditated 
scene between him and his inamorita.” 

‘‘There’s a knock!” in a hushed voice. 

“Who’s there?” from Wilburt as he peered 
through the keyhole. 

“ClufE, you chump! Open the door, for this 
beastly thing is heavy.” 

“The figure!” to Mrs. Scencio, as he opened the 
door. 

“Looks like a mummy, eh, Cluff, old boy?” when 
the hypothecated lady in wax stood near the 
mantel, swathed in white linen. 

A few jovial remarks between the two friends, 
and then the conspirators were alone again. 

“Heavens! Wilburt, what a divine figure of 
loveliness!” as the linen dropped from the double 
of my lady in purple. 

“Beautiful, eh? There!” kissing the bloodless 
lips. 

“How dare you, Wilburt Cassaway? And in my 
presence, too!” 


198 


SILENCE 


“It’s but a wax statue.” 

“But it is too realistic. Is the woman really 
as beautiful as this reproduction?” 

“You have seen the lady, twice, I believe, so 
ought to be able to judge whether this flatters 
her or not.” 

“I did not examine the lady very closely.” 

“Well, I did. And take it from me, this wax 
flgure does not flatter her; in fact, it could not 
possibly do the lady justice.” 

“And you really expect your wife, Cyrus and 
his chum Bangs to appear here, in these very 
rooms?” 

“I do.” 

“And pray, where will we be?” 

“Not in evidence, I assure you. The portieres 
there are about as good a hiding place from 
whence to view the impending scenes as one 
could possibly wish. And as one act is sched- 
uled to take place immediately after the fall of 
the curtain on the preceding one, we can expect 
quite an amusing night.” 

“That must be the boy from the dressmaker’s,” 
she said as a small knock was heard on the panel 
of the door. 

“Here’s a quarter, lad,” and Hocking the door 
he untied the bundle and at once the culprits pro- 


THE TRAP 


199 


ceeded to array the figure in a purple princess 
gown. 

****** 

It was 10.15 p. M. and I, seated in a cozy cor- 
ner^ my legs propped in a most unconventional 
manner and pipe between my teeth, was prog- 
nosticating, wondering as to the cause of my 
friend’s long absence. He had left me about 
eight o’clock with the intention of getting a shave 
and haircut, and promised to return in an hour, 
and here it was after ten, and no Cyrus. 

^^Come in !” called I, as someone knocked for ad- 
mission. 

message for Mr. Scencio, sir,” and the lad 
handed me a book to sign the receipt for the 
message and then was gone. 

And suddenly I leaped to my feet in consterna^ 
tion. I, Everett Bangs, a lawyer, and friend of 
Cyrus Scencio, had broken the seal of the enveloi)e 
and was in the act of unfolding the missive when 
the fact of my breach of friendship percolated my 
jumbled senses. 

^^Here’s a nice kettle of fish!” said I aloud as I 
laid the message on the table and returned to my 
couch. Then speculation became rife and over- 
powering. Was the missive from a woman? Of 
course, I had to get up again and inspect the 
handwriting on the envelope. 


200 


SILENCE 


“Always and ever a woman in the case,” I 
heard myself say as I laid the envelope down and 
returned to my berth, convinced that one of the 
gentler sex had written the note. 

For several minutes I pondered the problem, 
wondering whether it contained any news of im- 
portance, whether it was from a casual acquaint- 
ance, or the Woman in Purple ! 

Instantly I was upon my feet again and was 
reading the contents of the note, brief, concise, and 
to the point: 

“Mr. Cyrus Scencio: 

“Dear Sir : Owing to the libelous account in yes- 
terday’s paper mentioning me as the third party 
in the divorce proceedings inaugurated by your 
wife, I ask you to meet me at 10.30 p. M., at your 
wife’s apartments, at No. 17, rerented by her this 
day. 

Sincerely yours, 

“SILENCE.” 

Hastily I drew my watch from my pocket and 
noted the time. It was 10.45. 

Again I acted on the impulse of the moment. 
I wrote a short note wherein I stated that Cyrus’ 
secretary had opened the note, that the addressed 
was out, and that I would have him call as per 
appointment should he return ere 11.15 p. m., 


THE TRAP 


201 


sealed it and despatched it to the Woman in Pur- 
ple via the hall-boy. 

pretty scene there’ll be,” thought I, ^^when 
these tvv'o women face each other.” 

^W^as I long, Et’?” asked Cyrus as he entered 
the room. got interested in a game of pro- 
fessional pool between ” 

^^One moment,” I interpolated. ^^There’s a note 
here for you brought by a messenger boy,” hand- 
ing him the opened envelope with nervous fingers. 

^^Who broke the seal?” 

did. To see whether it contained urgent 
business. And, friend, if you intend to keep the 
appointment you have no time to burn.” 

^^Ten-thirty, the note says.” 

^Wes. And it’s 10.48 now.” 

^T’m going then. Will you come along?” 

^‘1 am not invited.” 

^Wou goose! Do you think that I want you to 
enter the room? No. But you can remain in the 
hall and be an eye-witness to the issue. The door 
can be left ajar, can it not?” 

^Trobably.” 

^^Then come on.” 

In a few minutes we were in the next apart- 
ment house. And as Cyrus entered the sitting 
room from the corridor he managed to leave the 
door ajar to the’ extent of at least two inches, 


202 


SILENCE 


for which I thanked him presently, otherwise I 
should have missed a sight for the gods. 

The Woman in Purple stood slightly turned to- 
ward the wall, her left arm resting on the man- 
tel, her face half buried in the folds of her sleeves, 
as if in distress. 

^Why,’’ and Cyrus stopped abruptly at sight of 
the silent figure in the room. ^What has hap- 
pened, Miss Silence? I thought your note said 
that I was to meet my wife here?’’ 

Receiving no reply, he stroked his mustache 
in doubt for several moments and studied the 
figure of the woman. 

suppose it is too late for me to apologize for 
my errant conduct of two days ago. Believe me, 
I was mad, raving mad with the sorrow that ate 
into my vitals like acid into fiesh. Can you real- 
ize what it means to have your ideal shattered, 
your faith in virtue blasted by the surreptitious 
hand of insidious vice, your honor, name and re- 
spect trampled on as if it were a snake? I read the 
disgraceful article in the paper relative to my 
wife’s application for divorce, my arrest and that 
of my chum, and I thirst with the desire to kill 
the proletarian who wrote it. I have been served 
with the papers in a divorce suit instigated by 
the woman who bears my name, and whom I was 
led to believe Tvas to meet me here. Where is 


THE TRAP 


203 


she? Evidently we are alone, just why I do not 
know unless it be that I am to be berated for my 
ungentlemanly conduct of day before yesterday. 
Woman and he stepped somewhat closer to 
her,. “1 do not know who you are, what you are, 
or whence you came. I have made it a practice 
never to misjudge a woman without having a 
concrete basis upon which to build my opinion. 
Just why it is that you had me arrested for rob- 
bery and then withdrew your charge I do not 
know. Why you entered my office and stung my 
soul with your classical beauty I cannot divine. 
To me it appears in the guise of a dream, unreal- 
istic, impossible, vague, save such rare occasions 
as for instance, Thanksgiving Day, and to-night, 
occasions when I saw in flesh and blood the 
subtile likeness of a gladness, warm, tender, flerce 
and repelling, undulating with the witchery of a 
vowed enchantress, then palpitating with the auric 
blush of insuperable love. Why pierce my heart 
with the racking thirst of Tantalus? Why lure 
me with potent eyes that rob me of my senses, my 
manhood and my honor, then spurn me with well 
calculated indifference to the love that is denied 
me, and to the sorrow crowmed monarch in my 
soul? Listen: Again the eclipse of blind passion 
rose in the distance and threw a shadow over my 
heart and home. A shaft of red and black sped 


204 


SILENCE 


through the white-whipped sky and found me 
prey to the sting of its merciless thrust. Oh, this 
evil, this shame, concocted by a nefarious 
wretch who smote Queen Virtue in the face and 
dragged her to the lees of Hell, that made of me 
a monster, black with wrath, a moral leper of her 
who was my queen.” 

“And is this lady your queen?” asked Wilburt 
Cassaway, Jr., as he and Mrs. Scencio stepped 
forth from behind the portieres. 

I saw the lips of Cyrus grow white as his teeth 
closed hard upon them; I felt the succeeding si- 
lence pall upon me with frigid awe as the seconds 
spun into eternity and the minutes dragged on 
and on. 

“Innocence personified!” and with a toss of her 
proud head Mrs Scencio walked toward the cen- 
tre of the room. 

“Quite a beauty, this creature of yours, Cyrus !” 

“You lie, you villain!” and with clenched fists 
he strode toward the other, eager for assault. 

“What are you doing here, pouring out your 
love to a stick in rags?” 

“Yes, Cyrus, what are you to the original of 
this?” lifting the arm from the mantel and 
straightening the head. 

“The woman in wax!” he gasped as he stag- 
gered backwards. 


THE TRAP 


205 


^^She’s quite beautiful, though, Cyrus, eh? Mrs. 
Mystery?’^ tickling the wax chin with sardonical 
glee. 

^^Damn you!’’ and with a bestial spring and 
savage lust in his eyes he made for the man, bent 
upon murdering him. 

^^Stay!” and the flash of steel made good the in- 
junction. 

^^You devil!” 

^^Gentleman, Cyrus.” 

^^And you, minx!” facing his wife. 

^^Lady, Cyrus. Can not you distinguish us from 
the associates you have mentioned, people who 
appear to be persona grata with you and that 
skinflint Bangs?” 

^^By the eternal gods! I’ll 

^^But one God, please!” cut in Wilburt. ^^And 
He’s damned you long ago, aye, the day that you 
^old your hide and soul to the likeness of this 
thing, who came to your office upon your urgent 
solicitation and — what a time you two had !” 

^^And, Cyrus, I have the proofs, such irrefraga- 
ble ones that they will set me free from you, a 
man who poses as a martyr in his wife’s eyes, his 
friends’ and that of the public, and was not exposed 
until trapped by the champion of his spouse’s fideli- 
ty and virtue.” 

He said not a word in defence, no stinging re- 


206 


SILENCE 

tort shot from his lips; instead, he merely fa* ed 
about, left the room and slammed the door shut. 

“Bangs I” 

His breath was hot and sulphurous, his eyes 
glaring orbs of scintillating fury, fiendish in their 
hue, and repelling in their terrible aspect. 

“Await my return!” 

What was to come? The fearful raspiness of 
his voice and the deadly glow in his eyes spoke 
murder. Where was he going? And what was 
his object? 

Like magic came the answer to my excited 
thoughts: A pistol, then death, probably a double 
or triple murder! 

Like one possessed I flew down the corridor, 
the stairs and to my apartments, then through 
the rooms and to my desk, where I kept a large 
48-calibre revolver. 

It was there. 

Relieved for a moment I dropped into a chair 
and tried to collect my bucolic senses. And, as 
I did so, the query sprang to my mind : Where had 
Cyrus gone? 

Up I leaped and through the rooms I sped in 
search of him, but without avail. Then my mind 
stampeded. Down the elevator and out into the 
starlit night I hastened, then up one side of the 
deserted street and down the next, a wild hope 


THE TRAP 


207 


clamoring at my heart that I might overtake my 
infuriated friend and frustrate his premeditated 
designs of murder. And when standing on the 
corner of a street a block distant from the apart- 
ment house, the thought assailed my troubled 
^^^enses that I had acted the idiot, that probably 
my chum had returned during my — to me — brief 
absence, and was now engaged in the fiendish 
delight of his red-handed deeds of violence. 

Never flew mortal man a hundred yards as I 
did that night through the white-bound streets 
of snow and ice. And, always impulsive, I rushed 
pellmell through the corridor and into the room, 
then fell against the wall, stunned with unimagin- 
able consternation. 

No Cyrus saw I, nay, I saw a woman, and the 
one I had least expected at such an unholy hour. 

“Mr. Bangs!” rising, “what is wrong?” 

I caught my breath at the sound of the famil- 
iar voice, then chased the cobwebs from my brain 
and tried to think collectedly and rationally. 

“Mrs. Cassaway,” coming forward to greet her, 
“I ask an apology for my peculiar conduct.” 
What the devil am I to say, thought I, as I stood 
before this delicate woman? 

“What has upset you so? You are all a- trem- 
ble.” 

“Cyrus,” I spurted, then, seeing the flush of 


208 


SILENCE 


pain cross her profile, I could have torn my 
tongue from my mouth with a vengeance. 

“On account of his wife and my husband?” and 
her eyes grew large with terror as she slowly 
rose to her feet. 

“Come now, do not be unduly excited,” and I 
tried to rectify my blundering mistake by sooth- 
ing her with words of comfort, yet the attempt 
failed, failed completely because I was a bungler 
where woman was concerned; man, too, for that 
matter. 

“What has happened to Miss Silence?” quaking 
in her voice as she nodded her head in the direc- 
tion of the mantel. 

“Did you address it?” 

“Yes, and received no reply. I have come to 
believe this place is haunted with evil spirits. 
Here’s the note Wilburt sent me by a messenger.” 

“So,” after reading it carefully, “your husband 
wishes to see you here, and at such a late hour.” 

“Sist !” and into my ears she whispered, 
“Father’s here, too, behind the couch in the corner 
to your right.” 

I was stupefied. The ramifications of these two 
domestic quarrels were beginnig to get beyond 
me. 

“Won’t you be seated?” helping her to a seat. 


THE TRAP 


209 


“Mr. Bangs,” softly again, “do you believe that 
my husband is beyond the recovery of my love?” 

“I am afraid so.” 

Then came sobbing, the heartbreaking and con- 
vulsive kind that appears upon its surface to tear 
a soul from its plastic temple; the kind, dear read- 
ers, that makes a man fight the surging desire to 
take a woman in his strong arms and soothe her 
troubled spirit with kisses and with love, the 
which was denied me, so I ground my heel in the 
soft carpet and tore my hair in frenzy for being 
an unmitigated ass. 

“Come, dear,” and I possessed myself of one of 
her little hands and began to stroke it tenderly, 
like a grieving brother at the woe of his beloved 
sister. “Do not weep so.” 

“Drop her hand, you scoundrel!” 

The perspiration, cold as ice, began to ooze 
from my pores as I managed to face about with 
aching brain and terrified senses. 

“Bangs, you villain!” and the husband of the 
woman dissolved in tears, trembled with the itch 
of murder as his hot breath fanned my blanched 
face. “I’ve caught you, and if you can wriggle 
your slimy body from my toils 

“Then what?” 

With an oath he spun around on one heel and 


210 


SILENCE 


started at the Woman in Purple standing erect 
before the mantel. 

‘‘You! You!” and he started toward her, his 
spastic lips green with the lust of murder. 

“Halt!” 

The thunderous command from an unexpected 
quarter roused my half-paralyzed senses to the 
knowledge that death was close upon the heels 
of Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., in the shape of the 
huge-calibred revolver glaring at him from the 
hands of the outraged man in the open threshold. 

“Do not shoot, Cyrus!” yelled Mrs. Cassaway in 
terror as she gripped my arms in horror and 
stared at the dark, swarthy face of my friend. 

From behind the portieres came Mrs. Scencio, 
white to the roots of her hair, drawn from her 
place of concealment by the intonation of the 
voice she knew meant death. 

Slowly, with eyes glued upon his deadly enemy, 
the hand of Wilburt Cassaway proceeded to make 
its way to his hip-pocket, only to be stayed by the 
voice of the man in the open doorway. 

“A move of your hand and you die!” 

“To the shame and disgrace of your father!” 

Livid with impotent rage, he faced about again, 
his basilisk-like eyes devouring the sight of his 
aged sire’s face with all the venom and fury of his 
futile rage. 


THE TRAP 


211 


Then followed silence, sprung from the cof- 
fers of doom, whilst devils, imps and hell broke 
loose and ravaged the soul of him who was my 
friend and brother, and made of him an orator, a 
maniac and a would-be murderer. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE CHASM OF DEATH. 


“Woman !” 

It sounded like a clap of thunder, this sudden, 
strident command addressed to Mrs, Scencio, white 
with terror. 

“Come here!” 

“Cyrus! Oh, Cyrus!” and I sprang to his side in 
fear. “For God’s sake, man, remember what you 
are about to do!” and then I retreated as if stung, 
the bestial look in his pupil-less orbs bored 
through my senses with their murderous and re- 
pellant glint, and swamped my soul in unimagin- 
able fear and horror. 

“Kneel !” 

Even as the fear-stricken woman obeyed his 
harsh injunction, I wondered how he knew that 
she did so, for his satanic eyes never left the gray 
face of the man who had betrayed his friendship in 
acts of violence, vice and crime. 

“When the roses laughed in sunshine red and 
2ia 


THE CHASM OF DEATH 


213 


bright, and whippoorwills crooned to a silver moon 
— the month was June, love’s fondest one, when 
SAvathes of sapphire clouds make merry with the 
crystal orbs of eternal Heaven, and diamond dews 
descend and lay themselves upon the lulling breast 
of pansies dry with thirst: saAv I when Twilight 
came to bivouac Avith fond Nature, an image, Avhose 
face and figure, made glorious by the sheen of In- 
nocence, won from me beyond the point of redemp- 
tion or recovery, the Throne Eoom of my love. The 
coral lips of vermilion hue I kissed; on sunset 
strands of golden tresses poured I the first bloom 
of my crystallized love; in Cupid’s realm was I 
crowned King by him, with Love my reigning 
queen. And I was happy. The laughing, skipping 
seas of opal hue Avhipped their crested backs in 
honor of my joys and rolled the tidings of mv hopes 
and aspirations to foreign lees and seas ; then pen- 
ciled mountain tops of sloping green and brown 
seemed to whisper their felicitations unto us twain 
as Ave basked our sunlit hearts in jacinth light that 
cleft the night from morn, and poured its crystal 
essence upon my love and I. I loved, I prayed, a 
slave to Adoration’s pew as I feasted my eyes upon 
the image of my affection and poured my soul into 
the font of Love triumphant and eternal. Aye, so 
thought I until Doom’s rich coffers came to me with 
its holocaust of vitrifying despair. 


214 


SILENCE 


“Saw I, when nocturnal stillness spread its slum- 
bering hold upon old Mother Earth and garbed my 
nest in blankets dark as ink (seen by my soul 
though night was hard upon my fold) a noxious 
weed that reared itself to unknown heights and 
mocked at me with Friendship’s sign and art. It 
was a dream, a silent warning that came from 
other haunts than man, and warned my trusting 
soul to the Spoiler come to suck the fruit of my 
animation and rob me of my honor, name, renown. 
He came, he sought, and conquered, and drove me 
to the abyss of murder, lust and vengeance. I 
strove, I fought with all the giant forces known to 
love; I scaled the battlements of blind Passion and 
drove to rout the seducer, black as the fringes of 
eternal hell. 

“In crimson forest dells went Love repentant 
and I forgiving, where Virtue fought its battle with 
giant Sin, and won a victory pleasing to the saints 
and angels above the skyline’s dome. And I be- 
lieved, I trusted and I worked. Made glorious by 
the sign of this great victory, made strong by the 
renewal of fond Affection, I felt the stirring of my 
soul to deeds of greatness and renown, and with 
Genius, come from her temporary retreat, I painted 
onyx seas with racing waves that seemed to chase 
the laughing bubbles from their crested backs and 
fling a shadow kiss unto a gibbous moon that sat 


THE CHASM OF DEATH 


215 


supreme in a lake of coral blue; and stars, great 
pearls of watery light, lured my brush to Fancy^s 
greatest height (when as I sat beneath the starlit 
dome of Paradise, and stilled my heart unto the 
tingling music of Love’s sweetest harp), noAV for- 
lorn in Misery’s bleeding wake, as Genius, come 
from the gods, is slaughtered on the altar of simon 
thirst for Vengeance. 

“1 was a man, a soul had I that thought no evil, 
nor wished an act of violence to overtake a single, 
son of man. To-day I am a brute, a devil in the 
guise of lofty man, whilst Vengeance throttles me 
by the heart and prods my soul to deeds of rash- 
ness and of murder. Desperation’s crowned su- 
preme within my soul, and mocks my grief with 
ringing cries that drive me to the deed of which I 
spoke; whilst cringing howls of fear rise from the 
hollow of King Death and feast upon my storm- 
swept senses with prongs of addling heat. I am 
mad, mad, the madness of an Outrage has eaten 
into the vitals of my animation, and drives me to 
the yawning precipice where Subjugation gloats 
its fill upon the spread of bones, like Vultures upon 
the stench of a carcass, whither you, Wilburt Cas- 
saway, Jr., are to precede my advent and explore 
this road that leads to Oblivion in Excelsis.”* 


*With permission from “Betel'guese.’ 


216 


SILENCE 


“ISTo, no !” and the hysterical wife of the accursed 
man dragged her half-numb limbs across the floor 
and clutched his knees in terror. 

“Wilburt Cassaway, are you prepared?” 

He could not answer. Congealed with fear and 
horror, and eyes riveted upon the black mouth of 
the gleaming weapon, he stood in dumb silence, 
prey to the echo of Doom that rasped from the 
other man’s lips and rang through the room with 
its frightful resonance. 

Then came a scene, the like of which is given but 
to few men to witness in a lifetime. 

“Cyrus Scencio!” 

I looked, I gasped, I trembled as if some giant 
cataclysm were taking place beneath the very floor 
of the room as I swayed with the motion of my 
excitement. For I saw, aye, a sight for the gods 
of Eome and Greece. I saw the proudest u'^oman 
born to mortal man in all her regal splendor ad- 
vance upon the man of drunken murder, lust and 
vengeance; I saw a pair of eyes that shone like 
heaven’s brightest constellations, fixed upon the 
gleaming ones of him who was insane ; I saw a face 
that vied with heaven’s brightest glory in its 
beauty, a bosom, full and round, that heaved ma- 
jestically like the gentle swell of an ocean’s breast, 
whilst a well-moulded arm of alabaster hue, and 
bare to the shoulder, pointed at the man who ha^j 


THE CHASM OF DEATH 


217 


been caught by the unseen force of her who called 
herself “Silence.” Slowly, steadily, like the cease- 
less run of water, came she, her terrible beauty fas- 
cinating each actor and spectator, her mystical 
force subjugating even the man of iron and nerve, 
who had fought this selfsame force to a standstill 
on a former occasion. 

She stood before him now ; then, wonder of won- 
ders ! I saw her tapering fingers that glistened with 
the dazzling sheen of costly diamonds, cover the 
hands of the man, there was a perceptible twitch 
of his spastic lips, and then he stood weaponless 
and speechless as the revolver disappeared beneath 
her bodice. 

Those of us who witnessed this unheard of mani- 
festation of magnetic infiuence, conjury, or what 
you will, will never forget it though we lived to the 
ripe age of the Biblical Methuselah. 

She spoke not a word, she made no motion with 
her arm, simply looked toward the door, where- 
upon Cyrus turned about and left the room with 
the woman at his heels, closing the door after her. 

“Wilburt!” and the old man shook as with the 
palsy as he staggered to his daughter-in-law and 
helped her to her feet. 

“What was it?” she echoed in awe. 

“What, dear?” stroking her hair affectionately. 


218 


SILENCE 


“That which came from the beautiful lady’s eyes 
and froze us all with terror?” 

“I do not know, dear.” 

“How came she here?” 

“You ought to know, son. I am sure that none 
of us can answer you.” 

“The figure!” gasped Mrs. Scencio, rising slowly 
with a wild look in her haunted, eyes. 

With a terrible oath the young man began to 
investigate. And in the corner by the mantel he 
found, standing erect, the figure in wax. 

“Wilburt Cassaway, you scoundrel! How dare 
you libel me as you have done?” 

“Bangs, I hate you !” 

“So I am led to believe.” 

“And if you do not leave this room at once I’ll 
use physical force in ejecting you, do you hear?” 

“Whose apartments are these?” 

“Mine, sir.” 

“Yours?” incredulously, as I faced Mrs. Scencio. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Since w'hen? Your husband gave them up sev- 
eral months ago.” 

“Do you doubt the lady’s assertion?” facing me 
with wrathful eyes. 

“I do!” 

“Son, son, how can you act so brutal? Have you 
no love, no pity nor respect for your poor old father 


THE CEABM OF DEATH 


219 


who cradled you in his arms when you were a babe, 
for the wife you have repeatedly stabbed with deeds 
and acts of vice and crime?’’ 

^^Wilburt, dear,” and the frail woman stood be- 
fore him, ^Sdll you not return with me to your 
father’s home and reconcile yourself to the love of 
a faithful wife and a forgiving father?” 

‘■^No.” 

^^You will not?” and the old man really frothed 
at the mouth with the fury of his impotent soul in 
the throes of implacable rage. 

^^By heavens, no ! And let this declaration 
suffice for all time to come. I have carved out the 
l)ath that I am to follow^ ; the ties that bound me to 
you,” pointing at the cowering woman who was his 
Vvife, have sundered, and there the subject ends 
as far as I am concerned.” 
brute!” 

^^Thanks ! I am not beholden to you for a 
farthing.” 

^What!” 

owe you nothing, absolutely nothing. I was 
brought into this world unsolicited and uninvited, 
hence the declaration that I owe you no debt.” 

^^I’ll have you arrested, you rogue!” 

^^And pray what for?” 

^^Por leaving your wife in her present delicate 
state of health, for wffiich offence there is a fine and 


220 


SILENCE 


imprisonment. And Vll do it, too, by hea^^en! and 
that at once. I’ll swear out a warrant for j'Our ar- 
rest in the next tw^enty minutes if you do not leave 
this soulless w^oman who has fastened her abomin- 
able clutches upon your heart and made of you a 
scoundrel vile as Satan.” 

^‘^Leave my apartments, sir,” and she stamped her 
foot in shame and anger. 

will. Wilburt Cassaway, are you prepared to 
return to your wife?” 
am not!” 

^^Everett Bangs, I ask of you as a friend and 
champion of my daughter-in-law to hasten to the 
nearest magistrate’s office and swear out a warrant 
for the arrest of Mrs. Scencio at once.” 

^^What for?” simultaneously, from the woman 
and man. 

^^For fornication.” 

Her face went crimson as she receded, as if struck 
in the face at this terrible announcement. 

‘^Come, Florence, the automobile awaits you right 
around the corner. Go home at once and await my 
return.” 

^^Where are you going?” 

^^Get a w^arrant for the arrest of your husband.” 

^^Oh, no, no !” and she clung to him in terror, en- 
treating him not to let his anger blind his reason, 
but he w^as obdurate. 


THE CHASM OF DEATH 


221 


^^Before midnight your husband and that hussy 
who has been his co-partner in crime will be lodged 
behind bars; creatures, to all intents and purposes, 
yile as the slums of helV^ 

^^You will do that!” advancing upon his irate 
father with clenched fists. 

^^Remain here and see,” and in another moment 
the three of us w^ere in the corridor, leaving the cul- 
prits speechless in the thrall of horror that feasted 
upon their souls like jackals on a putrefying car- 
cass. 

want that warrant served to-night. Bangs,” 
shouted Mr. Cassaway, as he got into a hansom, 
then was driven away, whilst I, teeming with 
righteous indignation, hastened to the nearest 
magistrate^s office and did as I was commanded, 
sensing all the while an unholy pleasure and de- 
light in the prospect that I thought awaited the 
woman who had wrecked my chumps young life. 

And, as is ever the case, a woman’s ingenuity 
won the issue. I had but just returned and was 
in the very act of crossing the apartment house to 
No. 19, next door, when Wilburt Cassaway and 
Mrs. Scencio descended the steps with several dress 
suit cases and entered a large snorting automobile, 
awaiting them. 

^^Did you swear out the warrant for your friend’s 


222 


SILENCE 


wife, Bangs?” asked he sneeringly, as he discerned 
my presence. 

“I did, you villain!” 

“I hope that you will come to New Orleans then 
and serve it in person, eh, Janice?” and the next 
moment the car had turned the corner and was 
lost to view, their destination being the Crescent 
City, some thousand miles beyond the jurisdiction 
of the New' York courts, the home of the w'oman 
in the case, and the future battleground of this 
story, where love, intrigue and lust ran rampant 
with the Gomorrahian lewdness crowned monarch 
with devil’s pomp and glory, 


CHAPTEE XVI. 


MAKDI GEAS. 

In stress of weather a ship hoves to a sheltering 
port and awaits the passing of the hurricane with- 
out; and in stress of trouble a man hies himself to 
a brothel shop, a club, etc., and souses his senses in 
swilling down the poisonous concoctions that there 
are served. 

Eeturning to my rooms I entered my library, 
and there I saw a sight that disgusted me to the 
point of despair. He sat in a chair, did Cyrus, 
a demijohn of whiskey beside him, drunk as a 
fiddler. 

The man was not addicted to strong drink, and, 
up to that fatal day preceding Thanksgiving, he 
had been a total stranger to its brutalizing in- 
fluence ; yet there he sat, paralyzed, the very atmos- 
phere exhaling the nauseating odor of a Bowery 
saloon. 

I wished myself and Cyrus dead, and the woman 
and the man speeding South to a place not exactly 
cool. 


233 


224 


SILENCE 


Then followed a vigil that told upon my nerves 
and strength, and brought me to the verge of a com- 
plete mental and physical collapse. Cyrus Scencio 
developed fever, brain fever, the doctor pronounced 
it the next morning, having answered my hasty 
summons. 

In my grief and sorrow I longed for comfort and 
advice, so I sent for Miss Silence. She came, took 
up the duties of a nurse, and I, idiot, became her 
humble slave. And the days that were an eternity 
in passing, ran into one week, then two, and still 
no visible signs of improvement in my friend, so a 
professional nurse was engaged, thus partially re- 
lieving the terrible strain that showed its effect 
upon the features of the mysterious woman. 

It was Christmas week that an incident occurred 
that haunted me for many a succeeding day. It 
was dusk. The nurse had been relieved and the 
Woman of Mystery was on watch. I had knocked 
for admittance as was my wont, lightly to be sure, 
and receiving no response I opened the door as 
softly as possible and entered. 

Before the bed the woman knelt, her hands clasp- 
ing the helpless ones of Cyrus, weeping as if her 
heart were wrung with inconsolable grief. 

“Is he dead?” I gasped in horror as I tiptoed 
to her side. 

“No. But he soon will be unless we can break 


MARDI GRAb 


the fever,” and then and there she loosed the flood- 
gates of her tears, a sight that roused my pity as 
it never had been before by a woman in the throes 
of sorrow. 

^^He appears to be breathless !” I whispered in 
awe as I viewed the spectacle of advancing torpor. 

save him !” rising suddenly and seating her- 
self on the edge of the bed. 

^^You!” I echoed. ^^Impossible !” shaking my 
head mournfully. 

^'Yes, I.” 

^^You have no thongs wherewith to reach his 
escaping breath and draw it forth from the yawn- 
ing abyss of death irrevocable.” 

will see. Magnetic influence saved him 
from the red hand of murder.” 

^^And it is to save him from the jaws of Death?” 

^^Prom Death, and the sorrow that would be 
mine in such an event. Listen you who appear to 
love this man with much show of fidelity. I love 
him too, aye, with all the strength of my tumultu- 
ous soul. To me this spumed husband is a god, a 
lord, a master, for whose love I would barter the 
heritage of Heaven and sip the quaff of hell eternal. 
You know not who nor what I am. It matters not. 
Believe though that I am a woman of ordinary 
flesh and blood, and that the forces of Nature as- 
sert themselves in me the same as in my other sis- 


226 


SILENCE 


ters; that Sex, the opposite one, please, lures me 
to its bowered bed and warms my blood with long- 
ings, fierce in aspect. I want Cyrus Scencio; I’ll 
have him, his love and what is his, though devils, 
imps and saints should rise and wage a war with 
me. And you. Bangs, if you raise a hand to thwart 
the desire of my soul, court a secret death. Ee^ 
member this, and beware; remember that I con- 
trol certain secret forces of Nature, unseen forces 
that may be put to use in more ways than one. 

^^Like Cyrus here, the superb affection of my 
heart, the sublime love of my soul, was slaughtered 
on the altar of vice by a scoundrel black as Mephis- 
topheles. 

^^You gasp in horror. Is this intelligence then so 
fearfully startling, so shocking? Listen: All men 
are brutes, some are civilized and some semi. You 
are a brute, as is your friend here, refined ones, 
sir, men whom the advance of culture and of learn- 
ing has had a hand in dominating the brutal in- 
stinct of your nature. You love, of course. Yes, 
like a savage beast in the jungles of Asia. For six 
months, a year perhaps, you are, to all intents and 
purposes, a gentleman as you court your elected 
goddess. Then what? The marriage nuptials are 
read, you go on board a ship or Pullman car, and, 
ere the virtuous maid recovers from the shock of 


MARDI GRAS 


227 


lovers excitement, you ravage her with simon lust 
and hellish glee.*^ 

^ Woman!’’ 

^^Have I lied? Is this not an actual fact, sir?” 

^Trobably in very rare cases it may ” 

all, all!” and she stamped her foot as she 
emphasized her fearful declaration. ^^Love is not 
as some writers have the nerve to expound. No, 
sir. He or she who avers that it is the desire to 
reproduce itself, lies with given intent or unfor- 
givable ignorance. Of the eighty-eight millions of 
people in the country thirty-nine millions are chil- 
dren, twenty millions men, and the rest v^omen. 
How many men do you think have their thoughts 
centered on the face of the babe in perspect, long- 
ing for it to be an exact reproduction of the woman 
they are ravaging with the hell of brute passion? 
Not one! You, who are unmarried, know, to the 
shame and sorrow of your soul, that this is sc. You 
cannot love a woman without the damnable desire 
of lust impinging your senses. In the houses of 
ill-fame, where prostitutes sell their flesh like Shy- 
locks, you and your like go, pet and kiss the crea- 
ture that some fiend has ruined and, after having 
ravaged her anew, you leave, probably to mingle 
with young damsels of virtue and innocence. What 
a spectacle for Civilization!” 

^^I refute the allegations made.” 


228 


SILENCE 


“And why? I saw the terrible lust mount to 
your own cheeks a few w^eeks ago, and make (d you 
a raving beast. I saw the hellish glee of devilish de- 
sire consume you with its fire as you faced the 
image of wax and glowed your fill on its seductive 
nudity with cankerous thoughts that drove your 
manhood and your honor to the loam of white- 
heated vice. Deny this, sir !” 

I was helpless. This unexpected onslaught of a 
woman who understood mankind better than my- 
self, who jerked the terrible truth from the secret 
recesses of one’s soul and flung them to one’s teeth 
with the sting of shame and horror, robbed me of 
the last vestige of expostulation or denial. 

With an incoherent excuse I made my way from 
the room and out into the biting cold, where King 
Frost bit the cobwebs from my jumbled senses as 
I began to pace the deserted street, a silent prey 
to the sting of insidious Conscience and the truth 
that would not be downed. 

For several days I was too ashamed to face my 
lady of mystery, and only stole into the presence 
of my chum when I knew that the paid nurse would 
be in attendance. 

And nights, when all was still as the tomb of 
Death, the fearful accusation of this modern Circe 
wrung through my mind like a bell in a pellucid 
atmosphere. “Every man’s a brute!” 


MARDI GRAS 


229 


Yes, after mncli deliberation and meditation, I 
am forced to coincide with her asseverations. I am 
a brute, Cyrus is one, and every other son of man. 
However this inevitable knowledge did not lessen 
my brotherly affection for my sick friend, though 
I may as well confess it, it had a tendency of em- 
bittering me against every other man. 

Christmas dawned snow-white, and with it came 
the return of Cyrus’ consciousness. I was not at hi^ 
bedside when he did so, neither was the mysterious 
woman. However, good news travels equally fast 
as bad, and so in a very few minutes we were at his 
side, shaking his hand and wishing him the compli- 
ments of the season. To me he was as ever, gracious 
in his affection and brotherly in his manner ; to the 
yeoman who appeared to be his Destiny for either 
good or evil, as the gods should elect, he was non- 
committal whilst in my presence. 

His once robust physique had shrunk until the 
very bones shown through his skin, and it was de- 
cided between the doctor, the woman, and myself, 
that as soon as he should be improved sufficiently 
to warrant his removal, that he be taken to a 
southern climate where he would recuperate much 
faster than in the frigid zone. Especially was this 
advice good on account of the Latin blood in the 
man’s veins and the country from which he came. 


230 


SILENCE 


Where do you wish to go?^’ I asked him one 
afternoon after New Year’s. 

^^To the city of my father’s death and the home 
of Mrs. La Trube.” 

^^And that is?” 

^^New Orleans.” 

I had all but forgotten the maiden name of his 
wife, which was most poignantly revived at his 
laconic rejoinder. 

^^New Orleans is not a place conducive to good 
health, Cyrus, and in your present condition the 
chances of malaria fever are greatly enhanced. 
A^'ellow Jack’ has a bad habit of making an unan- 
nounced entry into the city at almost any month of 
the year.” 

^^Oh, no, Et’,” and he smiled for the first time in 
weeks. ^The fever never reaches the town in the 
winter season.” 

I had been talking from hearsay, for I had never 
been to the city in question. I had an entirely differ- 
ent #eason for persuading him from his present in- 
clination, which the reader, of course, can surmise. 

The weather was intensely severe. Miss Silence 
and the doctor agreed, as if by some secret design, 
that the climate of New Orleans would restore my 
friend to his wonted good health in short order, so 
thither we made arrangements to go together just 
as soon as the doctor should pronounce the word. 


MARDI GRAS 


231 


It was the second of February that we left New 
York on the Southern Pacifiers palatial steamer 
Comus. I was somewhat surprised at the purser’s 
announcement that all the staterooms were occu- 
pied, and, eliciting the cause of this great exodus 
of Easterners to the Crescent City, I was informed 
that Mardi Gras and the midwinter racing at City 
Park were the cause. 

And Cyrus, with his artistic eye for the beauti- 
ful, basked his soul in the delights of dancing seas 
and spangled rifts of white-capped waves, of the 
frolicsome porpoises that raced with the speed of 
the vessel, and the setting sun that metamorphosed 
the water into sheets of golden hue and brilliancy. 

Seasickness appeared to be an unknown factor 
on board the ships that ply the Atlantic coast. At 
least so it seemed to me. Women and children sat 
on the decks under canvas roofs, and scanned the 
distant horizon for the sign of a passing ship. Oh, 
this was a delightful trip, one I fain would not for- 
get were it not for what occurred in the city of 
palms and swamps. 

The Gulf Stream was a constant source of de- 
light to Cyrus. For hours he would sit and watch 
the glistening waves of India blue roll away from 
the wash of the ship. And the great Mississippi, 
the mouth of which is some ninety miles from the 
city of our destination, gave us much food for 


232 


SILENCE 


thought and silent reflection. On its banks had 
been fought many a bloody battle, on its breast had 
swum and sunk many a cargo of human souls. 
And, as we passed a bend in the river called “Eng- 
lish Turn,” the days of my youth returned and I 
thought of Andrew Jackson and the battle of Chal- 
mette, where the pillaging British in 1814, under 
the command of Lord Packingham, hurled his fif- 
teen thousand troops against the five thousand 
Americans, only to fall in battle and have his sea- 
soned army routed by the man of iron and steel. 

The river narrowed by degrees, across from Al- 
geria the good ship anchored, and we landed, glad 
to set foot on old mother earth again. 

Probably no hostelry in this country is so well- 
known as that of the St. Charles at New Orleans. 
J ust why this is so I cannot say. Its cuisine is not 
that of the very best; its service far from perfect. 
However, we knew of but one hotel, that the St. 
Charles, so thither we were driven in a dilapidated 
carriage, w’here, after a tedious wait of five hours 
and ten minutes, we were assigned to rooms at an 
outrageous advance over its already high rate. 

When the inner man keeps me in touch with Na- 
ture I have a very good appetite, and am always 
on the qui vive for news concerning the best place 
to sate the inner man’s longings. And it was but 
twenty-four hours after we had put up at the hotel 


MARDI GRAS 


233 


in question, and whilst seated in the palm garden, 
that I heard the oft repeated news: ^^Go to An- 
thony Fabacher’s for your grub.’’ Naturally I be- 
came inquisitive, and learned that there was a 
restaurant on Eoyal street, near Iberia, named 
Fabacher’s, where a German chef titillated the 
palates of his guests with concoctions unheard of 
in the touted hostelries. And thither I ate my 
meals during my entire stay at the St. Charles 
Hotel, enjoying the music, the never-ending rush 
for seats, and the delectable cuisine. 

The streets were choked with hordes of people 
in gala attire, for the festivities of this city’s holi- 
day were at their zenith. I have seen the Mum- 
mers’ parade in Philadelphia, another one in St. 
Louis, the name of which I cannot recall at this 
writing, and the closing spectacle at Coney Is- 
land’s carnival, where confetti and that abomin- 
able little tickler meets one at every turn of its 
spangled promenade, all of which are tame and in- 
comparable to the wild, Babylonian glory rampant 
during the holocaust of New Orleans’ MardI Gras. 

The Assyrian spectacles in ancient times were 
gorgeous, the triumphant processions of x^Iexan- 
der the Great must have been superb, yet the 
climax of King Bex, with his priceless tunic, and 
queen with glittering jewels and satins is an over- 
whelming panorama of sybaritic imagination and 


234 


SILENCE 


luxury in this twentieth century. The town is 
loosej unchecked, and running mad with un- 
ashamed lust and secret intrigues. In skin-tight 
costumes, vying with the color of flesh, prance 
sirens, wenches and prostitutes on sidewalk or the 
street; in floats of regal splendor rides my madam 
of the Temple of Vice, bound once a year to show 
her painted face to foreign and domestic lauks. 

If you could resurrect the ancient city of Baby- 
lon, bring it to this country and set it in the midst 
of sedate Boston, those of you who have not wit- 
nessed the spectacle of Mardi Gras in New Orleans 
would get a good idea as to what its barbaric splen- 
dor is like. At night, when Virtue should be on 
guard over every house, giant Sin comes forth from 
his nocturnal lair and gloats his All by every known 
design. The lust of hell has broken its restrain- 
ing leash ; wild bacchanalian orgies make the 
night a reign of terror to fond Slumber, whilst 
gilded sirens in their white marble harems make 
hideous the souls of men who left their wives and 
daughters at the hotels and rooming houses. 
Sodomitical vices have broken loose to honor the 
advent of coming Lent (helPs mockery this), 
rapine, lust and leisons walk the streets by night 
and day, and ogle one and all with licentious eyes. 

Do I hear a voice of protest from a member of 
the ^Progressive Union,’’ an institution with one 


MARDI GRA8 


235 


thousand five hundred members pledged together 
for the advancement of the city’s commercial in- 
terests? Am I called to task by a loyal New Or- 
leanian for my harsh, almost brutal flaying cf your 
great festival? If so, then digest the succeeding 
facts : 

The town has a population of about three hun- 
dred and twenty thousand inhabitants, as follows : 
Twenty-five thousand negroes, an equal number of 
true Americans, and the rest a conglomerated con- 
coction of intermarried aliens, French (apologies 
these), Italians, Portuguese, Spaniards, Jews, and 
sons and daughters from every face of the globe. 
Even in business circles is this preponderating 
foreign element discernible. Take the New Or- 
leans Progressive Union’s membership list for 
May 12th, 1906, peruse the names on the first fif- 
teen pages and you will notice, if you have the 
patience to count, two hundred and forty-eight 
foreign names, and this in an organization that 
foreigners, as a rule, are the very last to espouse! 

Here is a town as wholly un-American as one can 
possibly find from coast to coast. A young man is 
not respected by his fellow men unless he has a 
mistress; virtue in a girl is an unnecessary bond- 
age to American conventionality and morality. 
Make a dollar, that’s the motto. If the girls can 


236 


SILENCE 


make it, thereby swelling the coffers of their soul- 
less sire, good! 

Yet, readers, I w^ant you to bear this in mind, 
that these people, the French preponderating, are 
not pure-blooded. A mongrel blood is in their 
veins, brought about by the many intermarriages 
between them and the other Latin races, which cor- 
rupt their moral intellect and levels them to the 
plane of a beast. 

Had Chicago been where New Orleans is after 
the great fire, the city would be eighteen feet above 
the river; wmter-works, instead of the filthy mos- 
quito-breeding cisterns now in every yard, would 
be installed; and sewers would carry awmy the 
nightsoil instead of as now is the case, a cesspool 
in the back of the house, which, when cleaned every 
six months, is pumped into barrels and carted 
through the living rooms. 

The few Americans from the East who have gone 
there for various reasons have tried their utmost 
to have the legislature pass a bill providing for 
the raising of the city, and have failed. Where the 
great bulk of the real estate is owned for many 
generations by the dirty garlic eating Gascons, as 
is here the case, and who draw their yearly rental 
without expending a cent for repairs or improve- 
ments on the property, undervalued and under- 
taxed, it can readily be seen that a storm of pro- 


MARDI GRAS 


1:37 

test would come from them the moment that any 
serious attemx)t were made to raise the city above 
Hood- tide. 

And it is a city, too, where one may not speak his 
mind, as witness the following: 

D. C. O’Mally, a fighting Irishman from Ohio, 
blew into New Orleans some years ago and pur- 
chased an evening paper called the Item. For 
political rascality consign me to New Orleans. Ed- 
ward Whittaker, inspector of police, became 
O’Mally’s black love. The then mayor, a Dutch son 
of Israel named Berman, from Algeria, a suburb 
of New Orleans across the Mississippi, considered 
himself libeled by the Item’s fearless exposure of 
a game of municipal graft ; and, with the help of a 
judge (nice state of affairs this), antagonistic to 
the fighting proclivities of O’Mally’s paper, pro- 
nounced him guilty. The Irishman is a fighter, a 
thinker and a gentleman ; and, probably, after his 
expiration of eight months, he will reveal to the 
outside world some startling facts concerning the 
penitentiary of Louisiana. 

To all intents and purposes I found, after a most 
careful study of the past and present of Edward 
Whittaker, inspector of New Orleans’ police, that 
the man is an unmitigated scoundrel of the dark- 
est hue. Girls of tender age, from fourteen to six- 
teen, have been seen to enter his residence on 


238 


SILENCE 


divers occasions, and remain for hours. Why? 
What lured them to this man’s den? Why did an 
irate mother call upon him with her daughter, 
denounce him in scathing language and force a 
magistrate to issue her a warrant calling for his 
immediate arrest? The woman was ignorant, 
dreamed not of the Machiavellian hand of the man 
she had hoped to bring to Justice’s pew. What 
happened? Simply this, dear readers: Re had 
the court take the girl away from her parent, claim- 
ing that the mother was using the innocent child 
for blackmailing purposes. 

And last, but not least, I ask for an ansTver to 
this question, to wit : What relationship exists be- 
tween this same man and a Russian Jew named 
Meyers, whose New York representative is one 
Henrj^ Boulanger, he who exploits female flesh for 
the leprous dens in Chicago, New Orleans, and my 
home town, New York? 

It was in February, 1906, that this son of King 
Lucifer S. came to New Orleans with his caravan 
of white slave traffic; not the first time though. 
One of the innocent lassies objected most strenu- 
ously to her new surroundings — a house on Ram- 
part street. Aye, she refused, too, the devilish 
mandate of the soulless madam, who, thereupon, 
as was her wont when dealing with incorrigible 
inmates who dared raise their standard of maidenly 


MABDI GRAS 


239 


virtue and fight for honor and for name, communi- 
cated her troubles to her master. He came, aye, 
with murder in his eyes came he, locked himself in 
the room with the terrified lass, and, with brute 
force roused to frenzy’s pitch, broke three libs of 
the helpless girl and battered her face into a veri- 
table jelly. 

She was sent to the ^^Charity HospitaF’ (the 
records show it) whilst the seducer of women has- 
tened to the friend of his devilish traffic, Edward 
Whittaker, inspector of police, where the sum o! 
|400 fixed the impending issue between Meyers 
and the girl when the latter should be well enough 
to leave the hospital and seek redress foi her 
frightful wrongs. 

She came, a winsome lass with golden tresses 
and trusting eyes of blue, and poured her tale of 
woe into the listening ears of the inspector. He 
was most poignantly overcome with grief and sor- 
row, this scoundrel black as Satan; he could not 
help her though in her present misfortune, because 
she had been living in a house of ill-fame without 
having paid the customary ^^License,” making use 
of a technicality in the law, a Law that appears to 
license prostitutes the same as dogs, a tax levied 
upon the fruits of flesh the same as if it were a 
plot of ground. 

Politely he informed her of the error of her ways ; 


240 


SILENCE 


politely he proffered her third-class steerage pas- 
sage back to New York on a ship; reluctantly she 
accepted the order of transportation, and Mr. Ed- 
ward Whittaker, inspector of New Orleans police, 
profited by the transaction to the extent of at least 
|380, to the disgrace of his city and the office that 
he holds. 

The foregoing are facts, irrefragable and incon- 
trovertible facts with proofs galore, such ones that, 
were it in any other city save the one mentioned, 
the man ^vould be riddled with rifie-shots if he 
chanced to escape the hands of the Law through 
a technicality. 

A storm of protest will arise, black threats of 
murder will assail me and the publishers who may 
possess enough American courage in the corj)uscles 
of their red veins to publish this book unexpur- 
gated. The stench of this one man’s crimes rise to 
the very sky; the white slave traffic which he shields 
with his vested power cries to high Heaven for 
vengeance. And Edward Whittaker, beware, for 
Doom sits poised on the balance of King Chance; 
retributive righteousnes is straining on the leash 
of Impatience; in the land of snow and ice a die 
has been cast by the brother of a lass who lost her 
honor and her soul in the haunts of vice and crime 
that you have shielded; your mundane days are 
numbered, and the motto to appear on the panels 


MARDI GRAS 


241 


of your door is the sign of premeditated Vengeance 
and Justice. Beware! 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL. 

On the corner of Carondelet and Poydras streets 
stands a new two-million-dollar hotel, called the 
New Denechaud, a hostelry that compares very 
favorably with any in the East. In fact, taking 
everything in consideration, I claim it to be the 
finest south of Baltimore, the Jefferson at Rich- 
mond, Va., and the Piedmont at Atlanta, Ga., not 
excepted. 

And to it I was making my way to keep an ap- 
pointment with a new acquaintance, a lawyer from 
Boston^ Mass., with whom I had rubbed a speakiug 
familiarity in the lobby of the Whitney Bar k 
earlier in the day. 

The Cuban negro, so dignified in his yellow liv- 
ery, goatee and pearl buttons, who holds forth in 
front of the magnificent entrance of the New Dene- 
chaud, won my attention immediately by his 
courtly aspect. 

I mention this fact because for a number of 


242 


THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 243 


years, ever since my first visit a few autumns 
ago on a hunting expedition in Halifax county, 
North Carolina, at a place called Scottlendneck, 1 
and the blackman have been at loggerheads be- 
cause of the ruthless murder of a brother to one 
of my friends in the party during the terrible riots 
at Wilmington, N. C., the fundamental cause of 
which was the political and moral lawlessness of 
a semi-educated yellow negro named R. Reardon, 
now an exile to the former haunts of his knavery 
(Dock street) and keeping a dirty barber shop 
in the Paradise of his race (Washington, D. C.) 
on Tenth street, N. W., block 1,000. 

The asinine statement of a Miss Mary White 
Ovington, of Brooklyn, N. Y., at the recent ban- 
quet given by the Cosmopolitan Society of New 
York, where whites and blacks to the number of 
forty sat and dined together, that ^^We (South and 
North en masse) are going to eat with and stand 
up for our colored brothers and sisters wherever 
and whenever we meet them or wherever we can,” 
appears to be the supremest apex of idiocy, un- 
excelled by any later day speaker save, perhaps, 
by Harold G^. Villard, editor of the New Yoh^k 
Evening Post, whose plea for ^^Social Equality” 
drew forth a thunderous applause from the black 
and equalized whites, and Hamilton Holt, editor of 
the Independent, New York, whose assertion that 


244 


SILENCE 


“When the negroes get education the whites in the 
South will have to recognize them as their equals, 
and that the only solution to the negro problem 
was intermarriage.” How long would it take 
Hamilton Hoft, Harold G. Villard and Miss Mary 
White Ovington to change their preconceived ideas 
on Intermarriage and Social Equality between the 
Caucasian and Ethiopian races if they lived six 
months in the Black Belt district? 

This liveried factotum treated me with due con- 
sideration and respect, ushered me into the beauti- 
ful lobby, saw that I was seated and had a bell-boy 
go in search of my new friend from Beantown, 
Mass. 

And as I thus sat glancing at the men and women 
who went in and out, I was struck by the aris- 
tocratic bearing of a tall man in silk hat and eve- 
ning clothes, his Kaiser William mustachios 
waxed and curled to a most beautiful effect, and 
sporting in his eye an English monocle. Just what 
it was that prompted me to leave my seat and 
approach the clerk’s desk I do not know. I did 
so, drawn by the stranger’s influence and by his 
military bearing. 

Listening to his laconic rejoinder to the clerk I 
noticed the strange accent in his speech, so singu- 
larly like to that of my lady of mystery that I at 


THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 245 


once found myself connecting the two in more ways 
than one. 

^^It is very strange that he has failed to keep his 
appointment/’ said he of the princely bearing. 
am going to the Grunewald and see whether he is 
there or not. So in the remote event of his belated 
appearance inform him of my destination/’ where- 
upon he left the hotel with yours truly close upon 
his heels for no other reason than — suppose I say 
curiosity for the time being. 

I soon found that the Grunewald was another 
hotel a few blocks down Carondelet street. Close 
upon the stranger’s wake I entered, then stopped 
spasmodically, my face turning a bright red to the 
very ears. For the latent fears of the past week 
were realized. Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., shook the 
man’s hand cordialh^, led him to a nearby seat and 
soon was engrossed in a voluble colloquy, failing 
to see me as I executed an adroit flank movement 
by turning around and entering the large dining- 
room off to the left of the lobby, only to return 
in another moment and make my way past tho 
two men, face turned toward the right wall and 
ears strung to their highest tension. 

^^And she’s dressed in purple?” I heard the man 
ask of Wilburt as I passed. 

Here was a conundrum, a mystery that I must 
solve, but how? I saw no possibility whereby I 


246 


SILENCE 


could take a seat next to the two and so overhear 
the tangible result of their conversation on ac- 
count of the extreme risk of immediate recognition 
from Cyrus’ one time chum. 

At the cigar-stand I halted, replenished my case 
v.dth Havana weeds, looked at the hotel register 
for the name of Wilburt and his companion in 
skirts whom I felt morally convinced was some- 
where in close proximity, and, finding that neither 
had registered of late, I decided to inquire of the 
clerk. 

am looking for a friend here, or, to be more 
concise, friends of an acquaintance of mine.” 

“Are they registered?” 

“No.” 

“What name?” 

“I do not remember at this moment.” 

“Then I can be of no service to you,” and he 
busied himself wdth three new arrivals. 

I racked my brains for a solution to my 
dilemma as the clerk was attending to the new'- 
comers’ wants, conjecturing as to the name and 
station of the dignified stranger with young Cas- 
saway, and wondering what connection the Woman 
in Purple might have with him. 

“I have seen this friend of my friend but once, 
^et I believe that I see him at this moment.” 

“Where?” 


THE SEQUEL TO KING BEX’S BALL 247 


^^That tall, athletic gentleman in evening clothes 
over there, talking to that foreign-looking man 
with the silk hat and waxed mnstachios/^ 

^^And you do not remember the name?^’ 

and I grew somewhat excited, for the men 
in question had risen and were walking toward 
the exit, arm in arm. 

^^The younger gentleman stopped here with his 
wife a few weeks ago, and left not ten days ago, 
moving to the Gray Gables. His name is Cassa- 
way.’’ 

^^That^s the man, sir, the man I^m looking for, 
I’m a Pinkerton,^’ whispering this startling in- 
telligence into his dumbfounded ear. 

suspected as much by your queries. Can I be 
of any further service to you?’’ 

^^Yes. Where and what is the Gray Gables?” 
gray granite building near the corner of St. 
Charles and Joseph streets, formerly a private resi- 
dence but now used as a sort of apartment house.” 

^^And the man who was with Cassaway? Do you 
know who he is, what he is, and where he’s from?” 

^Wes. He, too, was a guest here for a few days, 
leaving because of a tilt with one of the v/aiters 
and taking up his quarters at the New Denechaud 
Hotel. His name is Stratskyi. Won’t you look at 
the register?” shoving same toward me. 

I did so, and this is what I read: Count Gus- 


248 


SILENCE 


tave Adelphi Englebert von Stratskyi of Hungary. 

Thanking him for the information and handing 
him a cigar — I believe he informed me that his 
name was Saux or some such Gascon name — 1 
left the hotel and made my way to the St. Charles, 
wildly speculating as to the meaning of the men- 
tioning of the Lady in Purple and the chumming 
of the stranger with Wilburt Cassaway, Jr. 

Cyrus and Miss Silence were seated in the 
balcony watching the throngs of pedestrians surg- 
ing up and down the street in endless nuuibers, 
Across the street, in great, big, glaring type on a 
white sheet of canvas stretched clear across the 
Postal Telegraph building was the announcement 
of the flOjOOO stake to be run for at City Park 
on a certain day. Every man you met talked races 
and King Rex’s ball, the latter to be given .this 
same night. I saw this person Rex, king of osten- 
tatious extravagance and pampered luxury, a bow- 
legged, coarse-grained, red-headed individual who 
V as loaded with more whiskey than was good for 
his equilibrium. And, with the conversation cen- 
tering on this closing spectacle in the shape of a 
dozen or more masked balls and the everlasting 
mentioning of Rex, Comus and Proteus, lesser 
kings and sybarites of barbaric splendor, until I 
became disgusted and wished the entire spectacle 
in a different sphere. 


THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 249 


Yet both Cyrus and Miss Silence became faS’‘ 
cinated with the never-ending panorama below, and 
with the desire to attend the ball, which a friendly 
woman informed ns was a most fitting spectacle to 
the climax of this, the world’s most gorgeous carni- 
val. 

Were we anxious to attend, and would we go if 
invitations were procured? 

This open-heartedness of the woman surprised 
me. She came from Eichmond, Va., she informed 
us; also that admittance to the ball of King Eex 
was only through strict invitations from the city’s 
most exclusive society. 

Of course Cyrus and his infatuated companion 
assented with eagerness, and I with more or less 
reluctance, for reasons best known to myself. 

It w^as night, preceding Ash Wednesday, the 
first day of Lent, and the closing spectacle of this 
carnival must have been a most pleasing vision to 
the gentleman called Nick or Harry as he wit- 
nessed the closing scenes, so pleasing to his satanic 
Majesty. 

The hall was large and spacious, and the fancy 
costumes that greeted the eye were a wild riot of 
imagination that broke the restraining bonds of 
Chastity and commingled with crowned Lewdness. 
Women who in ordinary life raised their small 
voices at the sight of a sweltering man divested 


250 


SILENCE 


of his coat and vest, danced in tights to the rhythm 
of a bewitching waltz, revealing every move of the 
muscles of their semi-nude bodies to the delectation 
of Passion that feasted on the spoils of conjured 
thoughts and fancies. 

Cyrus did not dance, he could not have done so 
had he wished, yet he appeared to enjoy himself 
immensely as he strutted amongst the gay throng 
in his masquerade of a fifteenth century guards- 
man; watching with a hawk’s eye the whirling fig- 
ure of a gorgeous butterfiy, who was my lady Si- 
lence ; whilst I, in the garb of a Cardinal, haunted a 
semi-familiar figure of a chevalier of the seven- 
teenth century throughout the entire ball as he 
danced a score of times with the nymph-like figure 
of the butterfly. 

A stately prince in purple, too, won my atten- 
tion, and every now and then he would call a hon 
mot to the glittering queen who danced with me. 

The chevalier appeared to me after a quarter of 
an hour of close scrutiny to bear a striking re 
semblance to my new acquaintance from Boston, 
judging from the manner of his carriage and the 
build of his body. That he should be taken witli 
the airy figure of the butterfly surprised me not. 

Several times during a temporary recess it hap- 
pened that Cyrus and I found ourselves as mem- 
bers of a small group, joking each masquerader 


THE SEQUEL TO KING BEX’S BALL 251i 


with harmless quips; yet even the voices of the 
masked men and women betrayed not the identity of 
the queen, the chevalier, the prince in purple nor 
the butterfly. 

And I became hilarious as the rest with the pass- 
ing of each hour. I forgot the terrible past, lost 
myself in the glory of this strange entertainment. 

It was at the second last intermission, prior to 
the one when one and all are given a signal to 
unmask, that the aristocratic prince announced in 
a laughing voice to the queen, the butterfly, the 
chevalier, the guardsman, and myself, the Cardinal, 
with my partner, a Shepherdess, that we were aU 
to enter several carriages awaiting us at the end 
of the next waltz and repair to the Palm Garden 
of the St. Charles, where we should not reveal 
our identity until after the rendering of the toast. 

From one of the men came a protest. I think 
it was my friend from Beantown, stating that the 
management of the hotel would object. And when 
the glittering prince announced that the palm 
room had been engaged by him for this very occa- 
sion and dinner ordered for a dozen couples, we 
all concurred to the scheme and soon were sepa- 
rated again, the orchestra working overtime with 
superb renditions of classical music. 

I danced with the Shepherdess, a lithe creature 
who seemed not to touch the floor as I held her 


SILENCE 


slim waist, flitting here and there amongst the 
laughing couples as though propelled by aerial 
wings. 

The announcement of the intermission by the 
cessation of music brought us all in a little group 
near the entrance of the exit. And at the order 
of the magnanimous prince we made our way from 
the hall and to the carriages, four in number, 
awaiting us. 

I was somewhat surprised at the suddenly aug- 
mented number of the party. A Court Lady of 
the Queen Anne dynasty was an invited guest, as 
were flve more women and three men. Probably, 
thought I, the gentleman who has engaged the 
palm room and ordered dinner for a dozen couples 
desires that he have that many guests and so get 
the benefit of his money. Be this as it may I en- 
tered one of the carriages, and before I could dis- 
cern the one that Cyrus had entered I was rolling 
on my way to the rendezvous of the mysterious 
prince in purple. 

At the entrance to the palm garden I waited for 
my chum to come up, desiring, if possible, to share 
the seat next to him at the magnificently spread 
table awaiting us. 

Cyrus came with the last of the guests, and with 
him the butterfly, who, it appeared to me, was 
adverse to the acceptance of a seat at this sumptu- 


THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 253 


ous repast. Just what it was I could not de- 
termine. However, he evidently persuaded her to 
accept, for she entered and, contrary to my ex- 
pectancy, was separated from Cyrus and seated 
at the first seat to the right of the presiding prince, 
whilst I sat at the end of one side of the table^ 
and Cyrus across from me, the Shepherdess being 
my neighbor, and an exquisitely gowmed woman 
in the guise of a fifteenth century court dame, 
helped Cyrus to divide his attention. 

The orchestra, concealed behind a cluster of 
beautiful ferns and palms, played a Chopin march, 
the master of ceremonies in the person of the 
Prince seemed to lavish more or less attention on 
the somewhat silent butterfiy to his right, a fact 
that caught my attention at once, and one that 
communicated itself to my friend across the table 
from me in less than two minutes. 

^^Guests, friends, and strangers,’’ and the princft 
rose, lifting a sparkling glass of champagne high 
in the air, ^To the health of royalty in your midst, 
the Countess Gustave Adelphi Englebert von 
vStratskyi,” and he held the glass to his lips and 
drank. 

A Countess, a real Countess! gasped several of 
the ladies in consternation. 

^Xadies, gentlemen and enemies, to the eternal 
perdition of the leprous prince in purple !” and she 


254 


SILENCE 


flung the contents of her glass in the man’s face, 
tore the mask from her face and stood before us. 
Miss Silence in all the terrible beauty of anger 
and of hatred that appeared to enhance her loveli- 
ness nntil it dazzled the eye. 

Simultaneously came the order to unmask, to 
be succeeded by rampant excitement in each and 
eTery breast. 

The Prince in Purple was the Count with the 
outlandish cognomen, the Chevalier one Wilbert 
Cassaway, Jr., the queen the ex-wife of Cyrus, and 
the rest of the members strangers to me and my 
chum. 

And the fury that lit the eyes of the Count was 
terrible to behold. 

“My wife, friends,” pointing at Miss Silence 
as an ugly smile mantled his thick lips. 

The sheath of Cyrus’ sword rattled against the 
table as he drew himself erect, and with flame-lit 
eyes, surveyed the white face of his runaway wife. 

“In the palace of your King you lavished your 
lewd love upon the women who caught the eye of 
your mercurial fancy ; in the castle of your fathers, 
where saintly dames had reared their blessed off- 
spring for generations, you turned the night into 
bacchanalian festivals, and camped with Sin to 
the sorrow of my sonl and the babe that was to 
come. Wrecks of womanhood you sought in the 


TEE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 255 


slums of glaring Lewdness, brought them homej 
a’nd installed them as your mistresses in the 
apartments that belonged to me, your wife. 

^^When drunken carousals made the day and, 
night a reign of terror, and open incests flung 
their insults to the battlements of Queen Virtue, 
I left the haunts of vice and crime and returned 
to the home of my parents as you feasted on the 
splendid poison of Hell, and I on sorrow, tears 
and sighs that stormed my soul by legions. 

^^By all the vices known to the science of Sin, 
you outraged the honor of the woman you had 
sworn to cherish and to keep; by all the tokens 
of lust and moral depravity, you slaughtered the 
one glorious affection of my heart and turned my 
soul to channels, flerce in Aspect’s thrall of clam- 
oring vengeance. You sought to make of me this 
night a creature vile as those with whom you 
caroused long into the darkened night, yet for the 
nonce your premeditated designs have been frus- 
trated. Deny this if you can, you villain!” 

^^Ladies and gentlemen,” and I raised mj hand 
so all could see it. ^^As a friend of the Countess 
von Stratskyi, and on account of the unpleasant- 
ness that has so suddenly marred this social gath- 
ering, I ask that all leave this room save the 
Scencios, the Stratskyis and Mr. Cassaway.” 

And as the strangers flled out of the room, 


256 


SILENCE 


t young Cassaway turned to me and hissed the 
startling news: 

“There are no Scencios, you rogue. The former* 
wife of your friend became Mrs. Cassaway at Key 
West, Florida, three weeks ago.” 

I saw a deadly pallor mount to Cyrus’ eyes and 
cheeks at this brazen news, a dark glow rise to 
the eyes of the Count, and an impassioned glint 
in those of the Countess as the silence hung above 
us like the pall of Doom. 

“The last time that I heard of you, Countess, 
you were living incognito at Charleston, South 
Carolina.” 

“From whence I went to North Dakota, because 
the former state is the only one in America that 
grants a suffering wife no divorce from a bestial 
husband.” 

“You are my wife, belong to me for better or 
for worse; and the dowry in the shape of price- 
less jewels that you absconded with when you 
fled my castle and the state of Hungary, is mine, 
by virtue of the terms governing the marriage 
contract between us two. And I will have them, 
too, or know the reason why.” 

“So!” and if a look could have killed a man the 
Count would have been a dead one then and 
there; for, all the latent venom of this strange 
w*oman rose to the fore and spent itself without 


THE SEQUEL TO KING BEX’S BALL 257 


stint in the look that devoured the scoundrel be- 
fore her. 

^^Yes. And do you know how I will succeed?’’ 

^^No. It does not interest me in the least, see- 
ing that you are at your old tricks again.” 

^^Yet I will tell you. In the state of Louisiana 
a man is absolute master. The law allows him 
to go to his wife’s bank and withdraw therefrom 
the last farthing deposited in her name, permits 
him to sell the home and its contents over her 
head, grants him, as Lord and master, as is but 
right and just, the privilege of disposing all tangi- 
ble effects belonging to his wife if he so sees fit.” 

^^Then the law is an outrage, a survival of an- 
cient and barbaric times,” stamping her foot in 
consuming wrath. 

^^Gentlemen of my standing do not think so.” 

^^Gentlemen of your standing! How dare you 
call yourself such an one?” 

^^You still possess some of your American pro- 
clivities.” 

^^Yes, and thank God that it is so. You and your 
like are titled knaves, unprincipled rogues, who 
after having squandered your father’s patrimony 
at the gaming tables at Monte Carlo and wild 
debauchery in the gilded haunts of vice in Paris, 
London and Budapest, resort to the renlenishing 
of your coffers by marrying young and unsophis- 


258 




ticated American girls, whose mammas posses^ 
more money than brains. And it is an undying 
shame to the true sons and daughters of Liberty 
to learn that in the cities of New York, Phiiladel- 
phia, Boston and Chicago, groups of foreign men 
are banded together for the sole purpose of bring- 
ing about these international marriages by the 
loaning of vast sums of money to the heiress- 
hunting titled profligates, and introducing them 
to the spotted prey, as, for example, you and I 
were introduced and married in the city of Chi- 
cago some years ago.’’ 

^This is an untruth, ladies and gentlemen.” 

^^How dare you, a sodden rake, question my 
veracity? Only a few days ago a metropolitan 
paper of New Y^ork exposed this state of affairs 
by exploiting the mission of the Count Bartolo- 
meo Venier of Venice, who had the monumental 
egotism to admit that he was on the hunt for 
a rich American heiress, inadvertently admitting 
that there existed in the city of New York, a 
group of men who habitually assist titled snobs 
in their soulless pursuit of American fortunes by 
way of the altar.” 

deny the allegations made, and protest 
against the issue at hand as it is apt to stir up 
bad feelings between my friends and I.” 

^^Deny this then if you can: Antonia Ferara, 


THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 259 


of No. 193 Grand street; F. A. Garranmone, of 
No. 173 Mott street; J. Molea, a banker, and G. 
Eestiano, a caterer, the latter two of Grand 
street, and all of New York, are the principal ones 
who lend their aid in the marital hunt for Ameri- 
can wealth, and profit by the transaction to the 
extent of thousands. This man Ferara and his 
associates have advanced thousands of dollars to 
broken-down Counts of no account. 

^^Did not Count Bartolomeo Venier, a member 
of one of the most ancient families of Venice, 
when he came from a fruitless hunt in Philadel- 
phia to New York, candidly admit that he was in 
search of a wealthy wife? And did he not admit 
without the least show of hesitancy or shame that 
he was being assisted financially by New York 
merchants, as his own family was not in a position 
to supply him with the necessary funds for the 
successful completion of his lucre hunt? 

^^The merchant — foreigners as their names im- 
ply — and those impoverished rakes whom they 
assist, regard such transactions in a purely busi- 
ness way, hence the total absence of any show of 
pure love. International marriages are matters 
to be discussed calmly and the benefits to be de- 
rived by either contracting party weighed, the 
good American gold by the snob who has a handle 
to his name, and the hapless girl the empty title 


260 


SILENCE 


that cannot procure for her a morsel of bread were 
she starving after the man has squandered her 
last farthing. 

“And these men delight in boasting that this 
country is the only one in which such mesalli- 
ances can be successfully promulgated with con- 
summate skill, that the wealth of the bride, if 
she is an European subject, will not excuse a 
nobleman for marrying out of his tinseled class, 
but — listen you — that the American girls are 
looked upon in a different light. 

“ ‘All over Europe,’ said the Count Venier, ‘an 
American girl is regarded as if she belonged to 
a titled family, and that a nobleman does not lose 
caste if he marries her.’ 

“This is rank folly. Daughters of Liberty are 
looked upon as chattels, are treated most egregi- 
ously and, only tolerated by Society on account of 
the boughten handle prefixed to their names.” 

“This is an outrage, an insult to my ancestry.” 

“Listen you: In a recent newspaper article Mr. 
Ferara stated that he is very proud of the benefits 
that he has been able to bestow and of the num- 
ber of worthy (?) young men that he and his 
clique have assisted. He said that he was always 
glad to help the fine young fellows of old titled 
families (?) who come here to better their for- 
tunes. Having made his own money here, he 


THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 261 


desires to see other foreigners succeed. Many of 
them have spent their fortunes before sailing to 
the land of dollars and cents, and, being accus- 
tomed to haying plenty of money — like yourself, 
for instance — a little backing in the way of a loan 
of |10,000 or |15,000 gives them a new lease on 
life, and enables them to win a wealthy wife. 

^*i4nd the most disgraceful thing in all this 
business is, that your friend Count Bartolomeo 
Venier, of Venice, announced that he was not at 
all ashamed to have it known both by the press 
and public, that he was on a hunt for a rich Amer- 
ican heiress. 

^His family is illustrious,’ said he, have with 
me certified copies of my title’ — ^you had the same 
— ^My coat of arms is surmounted by the Cap of 
Doge, one of the very few in Italy that have such 
distinction. One of my ancestors. Admiral Sebas- 
tian Venier, was one of the heroes of Venice and 
a man whom the city was proud to honor,’ which 
means that he is the Season’s greatest matrimonial 
catch, that a thousand mammas are angling for 
him with bags of glittering gold, that an unso- 
phisticated, red-blooded American lassie will 
eventually marry him, and in a few years return 
to the land of Stars and Stripes and seek redress 
from his wanton cruelty through the agency of 


262 


SILENCE 


the divorce courts, just as hundreds before her, 
and I, have done.’’ 

^^You?” furiously as he clenched his fist in 
Simon rage. 

^^Yes, I, and as every other American girl will 
do who links her life with the broken-down bums 
and scalawags of titled lineage, men unfit for 
association with common laborers and factory 
hands.” 

News Item: Personal effects of the illustrious 
Prince Victor of Thurn and Taxis, Count of the 
Austrian Empire and Margrave of Bohemia, at- 
tached by bailiffs on the complaint of a money- 
lending matrimonial agent: 

Three suits of clothes (much worn). 

Two dinner jackets. 

Two evening suits. 

Four suits of underclothes. 

Eight shirts. 

Twenty-six handkerchiefs. 

Two overcoats. 

A leather valise. 

Sundry toilet articles. 

Three canes (one with a gold head with the 
Prince’s arms engraved thereon). 

!3l silver cigarette case, and 

Four scarf pins (one with an imitation 


THE SEQUEL TO KINO REX’S BALL 263 


pearl), the value of the aforesaid articles 
being appraised at |100. 

The above seizure was made on the complaint 
of Fraulein Helmina Kemper, a German maiden 
of uncertain antecedents. She came to Paris fif- 
teen years ago and became naturalized. Since 
then she has been known to those princes of one 
kind and another desirous of marrying American 
girls. She claims to have financed Prince Victor 
when he visited New York in search of an heir- 
ess. It was hoped at that time the Prince would 
capture Miss Gladys Vanderbilt. When his 
friends found he wasn’t succeeding they clubbed 
together and raised money to send the Countess < 
Clare over to help him out, as she claimed to 
have influential connections in American cities. 

Unfortunately, American society refused to 
swallow the Countess. She is an English woman 
whose real name is Mrs. Crossley. The title is 
quite apocryphal. Countess Clare left America 
in disgust, and the Prince, instead of capturing 
an heiress, was captured by Josephine Moffit, an 
actress, who claims to have married him after 
a fashion. 

Fraulein Kemper relates in her complaint full 
details of Prince Victor’s campaign for a Yankee 
bride. 

According to her story. Countess Clare came to 


264 


SILENCE 


her accompanied by Count Zaltynsky and asked 
her to back the Prince. She said Prince Victor 
had been engaged to Miss Paine, daughter of the 
late Governor Clinton Paine, of Baltimore, but 
that now he believed he could do better and se- 
cure Miss Vanderbilt. Fraulein Kemper advanced 
first |10,000, then |9,200, taking as security sev- 
en-seventeenths of manganese mine concessions 
situated at Lavanowaka, Russia. 

In February, 1906, Countess Clare and Zal- 
tynsky told Miss Kemper the Prince was about to 
begin work in the mines and, also, conclude the 
marriage, and that more money was necessary. 
She gave him f22,275, and in March another sum 
of $34,200. In April, while Prince Victor was 
in New York she sent him through Zaltynsky $1,- 
000. In May she gave up $20,000. In June, $16,- 
000. In November of the same year, $7,000. Still 
the Prince did not bring the marriage off. Then, 
losing hope, she appealed to the courts. 

When the bailiffs seized Prince Victor’s gar- 
ments in his rooms at the Hotel de Prance et da 
Choiseul he sent a friend offering $40 for the re- 
turn of his clothes as he could not find shelter in 
another hotel, but Fraulein Kemper refused, who 
said: 

“He begged for his bag and his evening clothes 
at least, so that he could leave town, as he knew 


THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 265 


that Josephine Moffit was on his trail. He fears 
she will throw vitriol on him, and he knows she 
is on her way from London full of wrath and cour-» 
age. I hope she gets him. I have only sued for 
|2,000, as his notes have not yet fallen due.’’ 

Fraulein Kemper is not the only financial back-- 
er of penniless noblemen in their attempts to se- 
cure American heiresses. The best known is a 
New York maiden lady connected with an historic 
Fifth avenue family who has for years kept a kind 
of matrimonial agency. She introduces heiresses 
for a commission which is fixed in advance and 
paid after marriage. 

The tailor who lent Count Boni de Castellane 
the money for his first visit to New York when 
he captured Anna Gould recently showed a spe- 
cial correspondent of a New York paper a long 
list of titled men willing to marry American 
girls. Among them were the Prince de Lecca, 
of a Corsican branch of the Colonna family, who 
has no money and plenty of bad habits His 
nephew is also in the market and was reported 
engaged to Miss Ingraham, of No. 104 Avenue de 
Champs Elysees. 

Others on the list were the Duke de Montmo- 
rency, the Comte de Chateaubriand and the 
Comte de la Fayette, who has ten children; 
the Vicomte de Eichebourg, who has no 


366 


SILENCE 


money, and Prince Orloff, the fattest and 
fastest prince in Europe. He lately informed 
his friends that he was engaged to Miss Stack- 
elburg, daughter of a Western millionaire, but 
it seems to have been a dream. Another noble- 
man whose name was on the list is the Count 
Jacques D’Aubigny. He is known as ‘‘the draw- 
ing-room microbe,” so persistently does he hunt 
for heiresses. He has no money, and his descent 
is illustrious, but it is said that Miss Gertrude 
Hamilton wull marry him as soon as she is of 
age, in spite of the opposition of her mother, the 
Baroness Graffenried. 

Most of these men depend upon tailors, money- 
lenders or matrimonial agents to finance them 
during the expensive campaign of heiress-hunt- 
ing. The Prince Varies, a nobleman whose re- 
cent marriage interested New York, agreed to 
pay a commission of $40,000 to a society woman 
who brought about a match 

Either these foreign parasites are imbued with 
colossal nerve and lack all remnants of decency, 
or our American heiresses are a lot of brainless, 

In view of the impending marriage between 
Anna Gould and her penniless Count de Sagan, it 
may interest some people to hear the lady’s com- 
ment relative to the wild scramble of our Amer- 


THE SEQUEL TO KINO BEX’S BALL 267 


ican heiresses for foreign titles. To quote her 
verbatim : 

^^We Americans love French society because of 
the shortcomings of our own. ( How remarkable ! ) 
To me France is the incarnation of the highest 
possibilities of elegance. Aristocrats’ titles attract 
American girls because we have not got them at 
home. I married a French aristocrat because I 
thought him the embodiment of finesse, of high life. 

^^Of course, I was disappointed; but I saw Paris 
and learned that it doesn’t do to differ from other, 
people. 

^^I^ris never saw me as I am. I was content to 
devote myself to my children ; I gave up my money 
royally, and, for the rest, sentenced myself in 
silence. 

^^One has to learn. I came from a country whose 
high society differs in every way from the French 
noblesse. At home woman spends the money that 
the man earns. 

^^If a French aristocrat marries one of our heir- 
esses he expects her to be his banker. This wife- 
banker must invest all her money in an enterprise 
over which she has no control and that often yields 
her but a scant percentage. American girls, as a 
rule, do not see this side of the medal, but when 
it is brought home to them, in time — oh, how it 
hurts ! 


268 


SILENCE 


‘‘Mainly because they want to rise above the 
American mode of life, American girls seek Euro- 
pean marriages — that is, marry titled foreigners. 

“In the material things, in honesty and solidity 
of purpose, the American man has no equal. We 
know that, we women do, but, nevertheless, turn 
to Europe in quest of the ideal man. On the old 
continent, we persuade ourselves, dwells the hero 
of our girlish dreams. 

“I know now that this hero of our imagination 
is more often than not but a gilded and beribboned 
manikin, but women will never believe it until they 
have found out for themselves. The man who 
bestrides his horse so elegantly, the cavalier of 
most enchanting manners — how could he be ca- 
pable of covetousness or intrigue? Nothing sur- 
prises an American heiress whose marriage to a 
titled foreigner turns out badly, more than the fact 
that her exquisite consort lacks heart, that muscle 
from which all our happiness should flow. 

“Curious, is it not? The French aristocracy, 
conserved in its own ice, plays upon the imagina- 
tions of American heiresses by the very character- 
istics it most conspicuously lacks. I knew quite 
well when a girl that not all French noblemen 
were jewels that the revolution forgot to destroy. 
Yet the charm of the flrst real cavalier I met cap- 
tivated me. 


THE SEQUEL TO KING REX’S BALL 269 


“To ensnare American girls a titled foreigner 
must be a past master of gallantry, the glass of 
fashion, an exquisite in every polite pursuit. If he 
hasn’t these qualities in the highest essence, then 
we prefer a practical, diligent, solid American.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

WHEN NATURES CLASHED. 

The biting sarcasm of this fearless woman stung 
the man with appalling fury, and sealed our indi- 
vidual lips as the bridling rein of fear swept our 
hearts and minds with unimaginable horror. 

^^I was your wife; aye, to the sorrow of my heart 
and soul. You followed me throughout Euror)e 
when the coffers of your safe were at their lowest 
ebb. To America you came, and with the help of 
sleuths, you succeeded in making my life another 
reign of terror, and yours the equal to that led in 
Europe, if not Avorse.’’ 

^^I did not. I sought a reconciliation on account 
of the son that was born to us, and whom you 
spirited from our home and tried to conceal from 
me, causing me the keenest of anxiety.’’ 

^^What know you of anxiety, of father-love, or af- 
fection? Nothing! It was at Newport News, Vir- 
ginia, where I was staying at the Arlington Hotel 
and you at the Lexington, that you openly dis- 

270 


NATURES CLASHED 


271 


graced yourself beyond the shadow of redemption 
by forming a pool with a clique of soulless men of 
like ilk whilst the first Carnival was in town, and 
where votes for the most beautiful and accom- 
plished maid were bought at so much per, the girl 
having the largest number of friends securing the 
greatest number of ballots. And, Count, who was 
it that secured these much wanted votes to be elect- 
ed queen of the Carnival, brought about by the for- 
mation of this pool, where hundreds of dollars were 
spent in purchasing these much prized ballots? 

red-headed siren named Nanny Gordon, ma- 
dam of a patronized temple of Sin. And, when 
this outrageous revelation came to the ears of a re- 
spectable society debutante, and she, in her justifi- 
able anger telephoned to the wanton in question in- 
quiring whether she had lost all remnants of re- 
spectability by accepting these boughten ballots, 
you. Count, instructed her to answer as follows: 
‘I have been voted the Queen of the Carnival and 
expect to be crowned. The only difference between 
you and I is that I advertise my business and you 
don’t,’ a fitting rejoinder and spectacle from the 
scoundrel who was my husband, and the concubine 
who had robbed him of his honor and respect.” 

^^I’ll— kill— you !” 

^^Eetract, sir !” and I snatched the helpless sword 


272 


SILENCE 


from the hands of my inanimate friend and rushed 
at the villain in a frenzy of wrath. 

“I call upon you, Mr. Cassaway!” 

“A man as vile as yourself! Retract!” pushing 
the point of the sword to his breast. 

“I retract, sir.” 

“For the first time in your life, Count.” 

“I wish to see my son.” 

“His grave is in the Episcopal cemetery at New- 
port News, Va.” 

“A heathen cemetery!” 

“A Christian one, sir.” 

“Was he baptized?” 

“Yes.” 

“By whom?” 

“An Episcopal minister.” 

“What ! You had my heir baptized by a Protes- 
tant minister? and I’m a Catholic, a devout son of 
the Pope! 

“A devout son of Mephistopheles, Count. Relig- 
ion occupies your thoughts just about as much as 
the study of psychology does the frivolous maids of 
our smart society.” 

“Oh, this disgrace! this everlasting disgrace!” 
and a genuine tear shone in this louk’s eye as he 
tore his hair in grief at the superstitious belief that 
his son was lost for all ages to come because a Cath- 
olic minister had not baptized it, a hideous example. 


WHEN NATURES CLASHED 


273 


of foreign aristocratic knaves who treat their 
American wives like savages in the Fiji IslandSj 
and raise a howl of protest if the child is not en- 
tered in the church of their fathers’ faith, though 
they themselves never practice the precepts of their 
religion nor venerate the laws of morality, nor 
hark to the dictates of conscience. 

^^And you are married!” I heard Cyrus ask of 
the woman who had so nearly wrecked his life, 
am.” 

^^Are you divorced?” 

^^Most assuredly.” 

^^On what grounds did you secure your separa- 
tion?” 

^^Incompatibility of temperament.” 

^^And you married Wilburt Cassaway?” 

^^She did. What have you to say against it?” 

^^And you secured a divorce also?” 
did.” 

^^On what grounds?” 

'infidelity.” 

"You lie!” and the Countess struck the villain 
squarely in the face with all the force at her com- 
mand. 

"Were you a man ” 

"I would kill you. A most fitting companion of 
the scoundrel who was my husband.” 

"Mrs. Cassaway, the state of New York will not 


274 


SILENCE 


recognize your divorce nor will it take notice of 
your marriage. And should you and your husband 
come to New York and register at a hotel I could 
have you both arrested.’’ 

^^The prospect of which is very remote, you 
meddler. The South suits us very well indeed. 
And, as this is the city of my wife’s birth, we ex- 
pect to make it our future home.” 

For several minutes then there was deep silence, 
each occupied with the thought uppermost in each 
individual brain. And as I thus stood facing the 
Countess, the pall of this sudden silence reminded 
me of another occasion not so many weeks ago 
when the room we were in was as silent as a char- 
nel house as the tragedy enacted by an insane man 
had its animation congealed by a power that 
seemed supernal. And as this same scene reviewed 
itself in my mind, I faced about, only to stare in 
blank amazement at the strange spectacle before 
me. 

The haughty prince in purple had been trapped. 
The same as Cyrus and I had been, by the fascina- 
ting power of the woman who had been his wife. 

Slowly, but surely, his knees gave way; now he 
knelt prone upon the floor with his head bowed as 
if in supplication. 

^^Kiss the hem of my gown!” 

And as he did so Wilburt Cassaway grabbed his* 


WHEN NATURES CLASHED 


275 


wife^s hand and fled from the room as if in mortal 
fear of the potencj" of this woman’s mysterious 
force. 

^^Do you love me?” 
do.” 

^^How much?” 
adore you.” 

^^Like a savage beast its brood. Count Stratskyi, 
you noble profligate, sprung from the bowels of hell 
and weaned by a devilish siren, I hate you with all 
the strength of my soul.” 

^^Wherefore I adore you, and am slave to your 
every whim,” bowing his head until it touched the 
floor. 

^^Get out of my sight before I lose the grip upon 
the floodgate of my passion and slay you with the 
steel hid beneath my bodice.” 

obey!” and the hypnotized man actually 
crawled on all fours and fled from the room, leav- 
ing me the sole witness to a scene that fascinated 
me with its divine spectacle of Thespian art enact- 
ed between this dominating woman and my artist 
friend. 

^^Cyrus I” and she came around the table toward 
him as he slowdy receded from her, a changed 
light in his eyes and color in his face as if denoting 
fear. 

^^Cyrus, dear !” 


276 


SILENCE 


^^Stand!’’ 

Struck dumb by this new role between these two 
malcontendants, I remained where I was, dread- 
ing something that I could not define. 

love you, Cyrus, love you with all the pent-up 
fire of my soul that has been seared with the burn- 
ing desire rampant in it since the first day of our 
meeting.^’ 

^^And I hate you 

And she shrunk back a few paces as if 
she had been stabbed. 

^^You lured me from the temple of moral Eecti- 
tude and fed me with the spoils of cankerous 
thoughts and unholy love.’’ 

^^You dragged from me the slumbering longings 
of what is bred by love, and turned my once placid 
existence into a furnace of white-heated longings 
that sapped me of my strength and crowned me 
slave to passion’s bond.” 

^^And all the while you hid from me the knowl- 
edge that you were married, that you had been a 
mother, and that you were a member of Hungarian 
royalty.” 

^^My past belongs to God and me, and concerns 
you not.” 

^^Why stab me then with the fire of your storming 
soul?” 

^^Why spurn the priceless homage of a longing 


WHEl^ ISIATVREB CLASHED 


277 


soul that would stake its eternity for the salvage 
of your love?’’ 

want it not.” 

^^Oh, yes, you do,” coming toward him again with 
staring eyes. 

^^Bangs, your sword!” and ere I knew how to 
find my tongue he had sprung to my side and 
snatched the sword from my helpless hand. 

^^Cyrus, love.” 

Again the tone of her voice was low and musical, 
just as on that former occasion when she had sub- 
jugated him, though all the impotent fury of the 
infernal regions had been consuming him with their 
terror. 

“1 want you, Cyrus, love.” 

^^And I want you not, for you are false, false as 
the woman who nearly murdered my soul with her 
acts of glaring vice.” 

^^Am I then so repulsive to you, dear?^’ 

am not dear to you. The alabaster sheen of 
your arms, neck and face, together with the glow- 
ing tresses of your golden hair, and sylphlike body,, 
only provoke me to-night to animosity’s exalted 
apex, caused by the sudden revelation of what and 
who you are, of what you were to that foreign dog 
whom you hypnotized with your devilish eyes.” 

^^And yet I love you.” 


278 


SILENCE 


“And I hate you. Stop looking at me with your 
penetrating eyes of basilisk hue.” 

“They dance with rapturous ecstasy and love for 
you, my Cyrus.” 

“Bangs! Bangs! Stop her, stop her!” And in 
his insane fear he fell over a chair, scrambled to 
his feet, looked at the woman to see whether she 
had advanced or not, then literally froze in his 
tracks, eyes riveted upon those of his enchantress 
and fighting the greatest battle of his mundane life 
in trying to break the fearful spell of her who 
swore to bend his stubborn will to her whim and 
fancy. 

“Cyrus, love, why do you spurn me?” 

“Great gods of Borne ! Bangs ! Bangs ! save me !” 
though why he called to me I do not know, seeing 
as he must have that I, too, was caught in the her- 
culean thrall of a force against which I could not 
combat nor, for that matter, save him. 

“You who have roused my heart and soul to 
Frenzy’s pitch, listen: There is no more need of 
your fighting against the unseen forces that have 
been battling with your mind. Sooner than force 
you to reciprocate the superb affection of my heart 
I will leave you and allow you to go your way un- 
molested. Do you desire this?” 

“I do.” 

“And why?” 


WEEN NATURES CLASHED 279 


^^Because you are unnatural.’’ 

^^And fear me?” 

‘^And fear you as Satan does the sign of virtue.” 

^^You are brutal.” 
am.” 

^^And every man’s a brute.” 

^^You have learned your lesson, Mr. Bangs, and 
have not forgotten it, I see.” 

^^You, Bangs!” 

''Yes.” 

"Am I a brute?” 

"A simon one.” 

"And pray what are you?” 

"A bestial one.” 

"Great Jerusalem ! Are you, too, caught by the 
snare of this unearthly woman, this tigress in the 
shape and form of Hecate?” 

"A woman who can read your secret thoughts 
and bend you to her will despite the prayer of your 
frightened soul.” 

"And make of me a driveling idiot and slave to 
passion’s lust.” 

"And make of you a slave to Cupid’s bowered 
dell. Yet, though I desire such, though my heart 
be set upon the attainment of this sweet Elysium, 
I would not bring it to pass by the application of 
any other agency than that of wooed affection,” 
and as she spoke a shadow crossed her face, like 


280 


SILENCE 


the mantling of the moon by a sweeping cloud, that 
drove the light from her sparkling eyes and 
streaked the dazzling beauty as if a darting lance 
had cleft the eternal skies above and pierced her 
storm-swept heart in twain. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE KISS OF FIRE. 

The chaos of riot and disorder in my mind was 
stilled with awe as these two warring elements 
eyed each other in silence. So precipitately had 
the forces of their respective natures clashed that 
it appeared to me both had been robbed of their 
otherwise biting assaults of tongue and spastic ex- 
pletives that seem to shoot from the lips of my hot 
Southern friend like fire from the mouth of a 
belching volcanic crater. 

And then this strange woman of mystery, of des- 
tiny, and of dazzling beauty, swayed to and fro as 
if rocked by a giant cyclone that sprung from the 
secret bowels of Nature’s buried limbo, and rav- 
ages both sea and land with the fury of an ancient 
despot. 

thought, did I, that I had found succor for 
my loveless heart, yet I awake to find that I have 
stumbled upon the lair of a jackal!” 

^ Woman I” 


281 


282 


SILENCE 


^^Man ! You goad me to the fury of murder/’ and 
like lightning her jeweled hand shot forth from 
beneath her bodice, clutching a deadly stiletto. 

^^Oh, I’m mad, mad, driveling mad, with the mad- 
ness of an idiot,” and Cyrus dropped into the near- 
est chair and covered his eyes with his hands, 
shaking with dry, convulsive sobs. 

have scaled the rock-ribbed crags of hell, 
fought my way to the battlements of Paradiseg 
scoured the desolate wastes of an eternal voidness 
for the sign of love and peace, and this is my re- 
ward, my doom !” sobbing low and pitifully. 

cannot stand these tears and meanings,” leap- 
ing to his feet and approaching the woman. ^^Si- 
lence!” 

“I want you not, brute !” 

^^Answer me this one question : Are you free?” 

^^Yes, so free am I that you have insulted me 
without impunity.” 

^^Forgive me, dear.” 
will not.” 

^^May I kiss your hand, the sign of which shall 
be that I am repentant?” 

'^No.” 

^^I’ll force you, then, by my devotion.” 

^^The which I’ll trample under the heel of ven- 
geance as if it were a vampire.” 

'^You will, eh?” 


THE KISS OF FIRE 


283 


will. I want the receptacle of my former af- 
fection, that little bearded man there, who is a 
gentleman, though he calls himself a brute.’^ 

The green-eyed monster of jealousy shot to his 
opaque eyes and began to toy with his heart and 
senses, to the supreme delight of this vowed sorcer- 
ess and the unloosed concomitant of Mephistophe- 
les. 

^^Bangs, you unmitigated villain 

^^Quite a superlative compliment, Mr. Scencio, es- 
pecially to your lifelong friend and companion.’’ 

The satire of this woman stung one like the bite 
of an adder, and made of man an idiot, raving mad 
though helpless. 

am innocent, Cyrus, believe me.” 

^ Woman, you drive me mad, stark mad!” 

^^And you, you abominable hypocrite; you have 
scuttled my love on the shoals of despair.” 

want you!” savagely, as he bit his mustache 
in rage. 

^^And I you.” 

^^Me?” incredulously. 

^^Cyrus, love!” 

^^Then this, the kiss of fire, as a sign of our be- 
trothal.” 

^^Then this, the sign of which is the surrender of 
your love,” and into each other’s arms they fell and 
kissed but once, aye, a kiss that ought to suffice 


284 


SILENCE 


them throughout life and eternity, for it was truly 
a kiss of fire, long-drawn, burning, and only termi- 
nated by the loud banging of the door as Count 
Stratskyi entered, livid with rage. 

^^Eelease the woman!’’ he shouted raucously, as 
he advanced in bestial strides upon the two. 

^^At whose command?” asked Cyrus, as he eyed 
his new antagonist unfiinchingly. 

^^At mine, you whelp!” 

^^And by what virtue?” from the woman, disen- 
gaging herself from the embrace of lover. 

^^That of being your husband.” 

^^Did I not inform you that I had divorced you?” 
do not believe it. And, even were this so, 1 
count upon your remarriage with me in the very 
near future.” 

“For personified egotism. Count, you have no 
equal.” 

“I am talking from experience.” 

“And, pray, is it your^wn?” 

“No. However, the past reports of your Ameri- 
can Countesses and Duchesses are good criterions 
to go by.” 

“To which I am an exception. Now leave me. 
otherwise I shall be compelled to call upon the 
physical assistance of my two friends here, who, I 
feel convinced, would be delighted in showing you 
the door.” 


TEE EI8S OF FIRE 


285 


^^You will hear from me again, woman,’’ and 
with a muttered oath he turned and left the room. 

The man must have been trading on the knowl- 
edge of the matrimonial escapades of the American 
Countess Eugenie de Eilly, thought I, she who di- 
vorced her Grecian titled lord, married a western 
man, lived with him six months and divorced him^ 
because, as she avers, ^^though a Count may be 
I)retty bad, he at least possesses good manners and 
is a gentleman.” Paradoxical as it may appear to 
the average sons and daughters of Liberty, this 
daughter of the Stars and Stripes announced that 
the men of her mother country were bores, rude in 
their manners, and that she wanted her Count back 
again, and the reports have it that she’s about to 
remarry him and return to Greece, where ^^all the 
men are gods and have such perfect manners,” and 
where I hope this creature will remain foreverj 
even her bones, for she is no true daughter of Lib- 
erty, and by her miserable conduct becomes an eye- 
sore to those of us who believe that chivalry in 
men is yet extant, the announcement of the Coun- 
tess Eugenie de Eilly and others of a like ilk to the 
contrary notwithstanding. 

Excusing myself, I made my way from the room, 
divested myself of the royal robes of Church, has- 
tened across the street and dispatched a long cable- 
gram to Wilburt Cassaway, Sr., New York, then 


286 


SILENCE 


promenaded up and down Canal street, mentally 
diagnosing the night’s events, and the sudden 
knowledge of the identity of she who had called 
herself “Silence.” Just what relation I would bear 
in the future between her and Cyrus was more than 
perplexing to me. I even pondered the possibility 
of their marriage in the immediate future, though 
to me they appeared as unsuited as any two couples 
that I have met in all my wanderings. I doubted, 
too, the advisability of such an alliance. I weighed 
in the balance of my retrospect and perspect, all 
that I knew of these two strange beings, what had 
occurred, and what might take place, with the re- 
sult that I found myself strenuously opposed to 
the plausibility of a matrimonial alliance between 
the two. 

Cyrus was in bed when I returned nearly two 
hours later, and having nothing else to occupy my 
mind for the present, I did likewise, though it was 
well toward morning ere I fell asleep. 

Cyrus had not too much of the world’s goods, 
probably $900 in all; I had even less, and what 
my adorable Countess possessed was yet a mystery 
And this state of our financial affairs being made 
known to my friend after breakfast at Fabacher’s, 
Ave decided by mutual concurrence that we were eat- 
ing into our reserve at a prohibitive rate of extrav- 
agance to such an extent that we had to retrench 


THE KISS OF FIRE 


287 


immediately, so I proposed a suite of rooms; he 
concurred, whereupon we sallied forth on a rent- 
hunting expedition. 

I had thought that the rents in New York 
City were high, yet, after a few inquiries, I decided 
that they were ridiculously low compared to the 
outrageous ones we met this morning. For a 
single room, cheap furniture and furnishings, |75 
and $100 was demanded, and, strange as it may 
appear, the price rose one-half in excess of that al- 
ready named when two were to occupy the room. 

These French Shylocks are experts in picking out 
a stranger, especially an Easterner, and as the 
town is but a six months one, the rents are saddled 
on the prospective victim to such an extent that 
their expenses incurred during the six months of 
depression are fully covered. And yet, strange as 
it must appear after digesting the above, nobody 
appears to pay any rent after the first of May. 

Near the Fisk Free Library, on Prytannia street, 
facing Lee’s inonument, was a beautiful residence 
where we secured two suites of rooms at a rental 
of $450 per month, the best suite for my lady <)f 
magnetic force, and the other one for ourselves. 
All this, mind you, without taking the lady into 
our confidence. 

And how she laughed and teased Cyrus that 


288 


SILENCE 


same day when he informed her of what we had 
done. 

“Cyrus, dear, do you not know that I am a real 
Countess?” 

“I have not forgotten it, sweet.” 

“Well, sir, do you not know that a Countess has 
bags of good American gold, otherwise, how could 
she become a COuntess? Neither you nor Mr. Ever- 
ett have ever heard of a poor American lass being 
wooed by a real foreign Count, have you?” 

“No, nor anybody else, for that matter,” replied 
I, with more or less show of vehemence. 

“A legacy from an old aunt came to me some 
eight months ago in the shape of a lifelong annuity 
amounting to |27,000 a year. Could you live on 
this amount, Cyrus?” 

“On the interest on the interest, dear, if you 
were my star of hope and love, the guiding hand 
to lead me to the highest rung of fickle Fame and 
its sister Renown.” 

“That is easy.” 

“Yes, provided you know the way.” 

“I do, and I intend to show you how.” 

“Then haste, for I am all eagerness to commence 
this herculean task.” 

“What subject do you expect to paint?” 

“Venus taking her bath.” 

“Why not the rosy-fingered Aphrodite?” 


THE KISS OF FIRE 


289 


have my reasons. And may I not paint the 
subject of my perspect, the subject that I painted 
on a former occasion, the model whose body was 
^coarse-grained, and sporting limbs like the shanks 
of a goblin’? I’ll paint, and the model for this neAV 
conception of dame Fancy has engaged herself to 
me for love’s sweet sake. What more can I wish?” 
continuation of your present mood.” 

^^That I may commence my subject at once and 
not lose any more time, suppose that we pack our 
belongings and move to our new quarters?” 

And acting on this advice we did so, though it 
took us all of three days to get properly settled in 
our new environment and to adapt ourselves to the 
constant society of each other, pleasant whilst the 
novelty was new for Cyrus, and — but that would be 
telling in advance of other things that must be re- 
lated in their logical sequence to this tale. 


CHAPTER XX. 


A TEYING ORDEAL. 

It was the fourth day after our advent to our 
new quarters that I left Cyrus busy with the prepa- 
ration of his paints and canvas and hurried to the 
L. & N. depot, foot of Canal street, to meet the in- 
coming train from the East bearing Mr. Cassaway, 
Sr., and his daughter-in-law. As usual, the train 
was three hours and twenty minutes late. He 
greeted me cordially, as did the delicate woman 
who had grown hollow-eyed with grief and worry. 

To the New Denechaud Hotel we drove, and, 
when the fatigued woman repaired to her room, 
the elder Cassaway took me to his own apartment 
and at once broached the subject harassing him for 
so many days and weeks. Had I seen anything of 
his son since my cablegram? And when I answered 
in the negative, he lapsed into silence, overcome 
with his bitter emotions. 

^^What kind of a woman is this ex-wife of Cyrus, 
Everett? Is she really a woman? Gad, she ap- 

290 


A TRYING ORDEAL 


291 


pears to me as a veritable fiend, sir, a heartless 
fiend possessed of all the black arts and knavery of 
hell.’’ 

do not know. Cyrus himself knew next to 
nothing of the woman prior to his marriage, and 
what he has since learned is hardly news of a pre- 
possessing nature.” 

should say not. What was the minx’s maiden 
name? Do you recall it?” 

^Wes. She was a La Trube.” 

^^Have you looked up her pedigree?” 
saw no reason for doing so.” 

‘Trobably you are right. And yet, Everett, we 
might learn something that might be of real value 
to us in the future, who knows?” 

doubt it. She divorced her husband, married 
your son, and there the matter ends, as far as I 
can see.” 

see farther than you do. You and I will go 
to Florida, ascertain the grounds upon which both 
secured their divorce, whether they lived together 
prior to the granting of the divorce, and whether 
they were legally married.” 

procedure I deem fruitless.” 

^‘And Cyrus, how fares he?” 

have some startling intelligence to impart to 
you, relative to the Woman in Purple.” 

^^Gad, but she’s a trump! Suppose now that 


292 


SILENCE 


she had been the wife of Wilburt, eh? and he had 
conducted himself as he did with Florence, what 
kind of an ending would there be to this episode?” 

“She would either break him of his mad infatu- 
ation and the contaminating influence of her rival, 
or kill him in the attempt.” 

“And it would serve him right, the scalawag!” 

“This strange woman is a Countess.” 

“What?” 

“A real Countess.” 

“Oh, come now, Everett I” 

“I saw her husband. Count Gustave Adelphi En- 
glebert von Stratskyi of Hungary.” 

“Heavens, wihat a name! Then this bundle of 
Are is married?” 

“Divorced, and madly in love with our friend 
Cyrus.” 

“Eh?” 

“And the Count is beastly furious because a 
priceless legacy of his ex-Countess’ managed to 
slip through his greedy Angers, together with her 
family jewels.” 

“Hang all Counts and Dukes, say I !” 

“Amen !” 

“And my son, where is he?” 

“Quartered at the Gray Gables. He and the un- 
savory Count are great chums, fond of each other 
as two brothers.” 


A TRYING ORDEAL 


293 


^^Just like him to associate with a money-grub- 
bing no-Count.’’ 

^^Does your daughter-in-law know of your son’s 
marriage with the former Mrs. Scencio?” 

^^Yes. Unfortunately I was out when your cable 
came.” 

advise you to consult a good lawyer before you 
take any action/’ and I mentioned a noted law firm 
with offices in the Hennen Building, and he, deem- 
ing my advice logical, I gave him directions how 
to find the building in question, promised to re- 
turn in the evening and left him, hastening to my 
quarters, for I had been absent over four hours, 
and I was anxious to see w^hat progress my friend 
had made in his anticipated work. 

Without the formality of knocking I entered the 
1‘oom that he had fitted up for his studio, then re- 
coiled in horror at the sight which greeted my eyes. 
Naked as when she wms born, a wreath of green 
fastened in her golden hair, eyes cast down In 
simulation of virtue, stood the model of my friend, 
who, seated about eight feet away, close to the wall, 
palette in one hand and brush in the other, was 
engaged in the first stage of reproducing the be- 
witching likeness of his living Venus. 

^^How dare you intrude?” he growled at me as I 
had entered unannounced. 

^^I’ll leave, Cyrus,” I heard myself murmur, as, 


294 


SILENCE 


with covered eyes, I faced about, preparatory to a 
hasty exit, when the woman’s voice stayed me. 

“Mr. Everett!” 

“Well?” and I faced about, devouring the sight 
before me through the crack of two fingers. 

“I see you peeping, Everett.” 

I swore beneath my breath at this exposure of 
my duplicity, then dropped my hands and, with 
shame-lit face, feasted my eyes upon the dazzling 
nudity of this most beautiful woman. 

“Do not talk whilst I paint.” 

“Why, Cyrus?” 

“You disturb the action of my thoughts that 
control the stroke of my brush.” 

“How ridiculous !” laughing gayly, though never 
moving an iota from her peculiar posture. “I de- 
sire company, Cyrus, especially our friend Bangs,* 
who is such a delightful conversationalist.” 

“I don’t,” flinging the brush on the palette and 
rising. 

Instantly she had covered herself v4th a long, 
cream-colored mantle and had seated herself, ma- 
king the room ring with the sound of her melodious 
laughter. 

“Mr. Everett, do you know the latest disease of 
your friend?” 

“No.” 

“He has caught a violent attack of jealousy.” 


A TRYING ORDEAL 


295 


“It is not so,” blushing red to his very hair. 

“Then why protest to the presence of our. 
friend?” 

“He annoys me.” 

“Is that all?” 

“Is that not enough?” 

“Oh, come, Cyrus, you are jealous that he ffiould 
witness my sublime figure, gloat his eyes to their 
fill on the beauty that you are endeavoring to re- 
produce by the aid of your brush. Yet it is my 
desire that whenever I pose for you that he be pres- 
ent. Is this too hard for you to bear, you, who are 
to see nothing in this manifestation of woman’s 
divine form, you who have schooled your passions 
whilst matriculating in the school of nature’s sub- 
limest art, the study of the human form divine?” 

“I see not with sex’s eye when I paint, madame,” 
growing black under the eye as he toyed with the 
brushes on his palette. 

“Why refuse the admission of your friend, then?” 

“He ne®d not refuse me, for I will vacate at 
once. I«i fact, I have no desire to come between 
him and his art, nor to be a witness to the revela- 
tion of your physical charms.” 

“How good of you, Mr. Everett. Yet if your 
friend is to go on with his work and I am to be his 
model, you, Mr. Bangs, are to remain with us dur- 
ing such time as I am posing.” 


296 


SILENCE 


“Why?” 

“Cyrus Scencio, you know why.” 

“And yet I ask why?” 

“Because you are an animal.” 

“A brute, Cyrus, do you not comprehend? Come, 
now, I have an appointment to keep, so resume 
your work. I will set myself here and see that 
you both behave yourselves,” suiting the action to 
the words by placing a chair midway between the 
two near the wall, to the evident discomfiture of 
a man and the delight of this remarkable woman. 

“I can stand this strain but an hour, Cyrus, and 
as I shall pose but one hour each day, you had 
better resume your work,” which he did with a 
laugh, marveling, though, at her strange caprice. 

Here was an opportunity of studying the man 
at a close range, during an ordeal that must have 
tried his nerves of steel until the sweat of passion 
stood upon his brow in large, damp beads. Yet he 
won the battle of this first day, the second and 
third, and many others, whilst I, of lesser strength 
and will power, had to resort to drugs to help me 
in this fearful crisis in my life. To have sat there 
day after day, and paint this unearthly beauty of 
a woman whose very soul was a seething cauldron 
of blind and implacable passion held in leash by a 
force that was beyond the solution of mere man, 
would have driven me insane. Yet, so schooled uas 


A TRYING ORDEAL 


297 


this man of art that, after the first day, he would, 
enter the studio, cigarette between his lips, seat 
himself and paint, as though the image before him 
were a lifeless statue of wax or marble, to all in- 
tents and purposes dead to the very lustre in the 
woman’s eyes that feasted upon the thought of her 
hidden soul. 

^^Cyrus, how can you dominate your feelings to 
such an extent that you can sit complacently be- 
fore this fascinating model of yours and paint 
without cursing uyitil the very atmosphere is 
charged with sulphur?” I asked him the first 
night after his model’s debut. 

^^How? Easily, friend. In the first place true 
art has no knowledge of Sex.” 

^^It must, for you are not stone.” 

^^Choke your feelings, Et’, catch them by the 
neck and wring them until they die. If you have 
a toothache you have the offending member pulled, 
do you not?” 

^^Yes. But you cannot extract Nature’s inborn 
passion the same as a dentist does a huge 
molar.” 

''Yes.” 

"For heaven’s sake tell me the secret, Cyrus, for 
I am about as near mad as a man can possibly be 
and not bite.” 


298 


SILENCE 


“Drive your thoughts to oblivion, trample them 
underfoot in the dust of defeat, and Pray.” 

“Do you pray?” 

“Not now. But I used to. Yes, I prayed, my 
teeth I ground in rage, my hair I jerked in frenzy 
and my body cut and gashed with whips and knives 
until I’d fall exhausted.” 

“So, that’s what you used to do back up in the 
bathroom for hours at a time!” I ejaculated in 
amazement at this man’s strange confession. 

“Come, the subject does not interest me, so let 
us change it. Are you going to keep your appoint- 
ment with the elder Oassaway?” 

“I am.” 

“If you do not object I will keep you company.” 

“By all means, come along,” and to the New 
Denechaud we went, where, in the lobby, sat our 
woe-begone friend. 

“Cyrus, friend, what has happened to you?” 
shaking his hands in a fatherly manner and in- 
specting his face with keen interest. 

“Do I look changed?” 

! “I should say so.” 

“I was under the weather for some time, and 
am far from being my former self at this moment.” 

“You must be very careful of your health, Cyrus, 
and never drink anything but mineral water 
Heavens, but these mosquitoes are fierce. I won- 


A TRYING ORDEAL 


299 


der whether the people here have to fight these 
pests all the year through?” 

“Yes, a diversion lasting from January to De- 
cember.” 

“And sleep from year to year under those 
beastly, suffocating mosquito-nettings over one’s 
bed?” 

“Not unless you prefer the nightly music of the 
insects, Mr. Cassaway,” and I laughed gleefully as 
I noted the several red lumps on his bald “pate.” 

“Nice place for a gentleman to live! What in 
the world did the people who founded this burg 
see in this swamp anyway? It would be the very 
last place on earth that I would select as a site 
for a town. Why didn’t they go to Gulfport?” 

“Yet the Gascons do not think so.” 

“To Hades with the Gascons and their ilk, 
Every other man you meet sports an unpro- 
nounceable name, and talks in a gibberish that 
would choke a goat. And the English that one 
hears in this burg is beautiful. ‘Nice mans, youses. 
womans,’ etc., etc. Heavens, the way the English 
language is murdered here is enough to make the 
Bard of Avon and Webster turn in their graves 
and groan a remonstrance.” 

“You saw the lawyers?” 

“Yes, and one of them leaves to-night for Key 
West to investigate their divorces.” 


300 


SILENCE 


“There’s the ex-husband of the Countess, Mr. 
Cassaway.” 

“Where?” asked Cyrus and the elder man in one 
voice. 

“At the cigar-stand, refilling his case.” 

“My hands itch for an opportnnity to ring his 
countly neck.” 

“Do so, Cyms. Gad! But I should like to see 
you take him by the scruff of the neck and clean 
the fioor with him.” 

The individual in question was coming toward 
where we sat, he spied me, halted abruptly and 
surveyed Cyrus with hostile eyes. 

His bellicose nature only inflamed my friend to a 
greater thirst for battle, my own thonghts to flights 
of well-grounded fear, and Mr. Cassaway to a wild 
longing that his expectation might be realized. 

“Mr. Cyrus Scencio, I believe?” stepping close 
to my friend, who tnrned his face toward me and 
pretended not to have heard the Count’s address. 

“The gentleman in the guise of a fifteenth cen- 
tury guardsman at King Bex’s ball a few nights 
ago?” 

Still being ignored by the addressed, he faced 
about and started toward the exit, changed his 
mind and retnrned for fresh battle. 

“The gentleman who bestowed npon the lips of 
my Countess the Kiss of Fire?” 


A TRYING ORDEAL 


301 


^^You insolent cur, take that!’’ and his Highness 
slid most beautifully across the well-polished floor 
and only stopped his peregrination by coming in 
contact with the row of leather-upholstered chairs 
against the opposite wall. 

^^Mine honor has been insulted!” shouted he as 
he extricated his legs from the ma^e of chairs and 
regained his countly equilibrium. 

^^Ha! ha! ha!” and Mr. Cassaway roared with 
laughter at sight of the raging man from Hungary. 

^^You have insulted me, sir, and must apologize,” 
shaking his fist in Cyrus’ swarthy face. 

^^I’ll wring your neck, you foreign cur, if you 
do not disappear in another moment.” 

hereby challenge you to a duel,” deliberately 
slapping Cyrus’ face. 

^^Duel with the like of you? Oh, no,” and he 
caught hold of the Count’s beautiful waxed mus- 
tachios and dragged him in front of us. ^^Get on 
your knees and apologize for your insolence.” 

The man’s face changed to scarlet as he fought 
against the terrible pain produced by the unmerci- 
ful pulling of his hirsute appendages by Cyrus. 

^^Apologize !” and he nearly lifted the man from 
his feet in his savage strength and lust for battle. 

Tears of acute pain were streaming down his 
cheeks as he hurriedly dropped on his knees and 


302 


SILENCE 


between the escaping gasps of pain murmured an 
appropriate apology. 

^^Now rise!’’ 

Painfully he rose to his feet, consumed with 
fear and helpless wrath. 

^^Let me hear but one word derogatory to the 
name of the woman who divorced you and I will 
break every bone in your miserable body. And if 
you value your countly dignity and skin, you will 
eschew me in the future, otherwise your Highness 
will suffer at my ungentle hands, hands that have 
not as yet learned to distinguish a nobleman from 
an ordinary scoundrel. An revoir.” 

^^By heaven! Cyrus, you’re great, great!” and 
again the lobby rang with the old gentleman’s bois- 
terous laughter, augmented by my own, roused by 
the lugubrious exit of my noble Count from Hun- 
gary. 

^‘Seems funny to me, too,” and Cyrus fell into 
a fit of hearty cachinnation that lasted for a full 
minute. 

^^And he’s a real Count?” asked Mr. Cassaway 
after he caught his breath. 

^^The hotel register proclaims him as such, as 
does his ex-wife,” T answered. 

^^And the like of him our American lassies 
marry, handing over their fortunes! Incredulous, 
boys, I cannot believe it.” 


A TRYING ORDEAL 


303 


‘‘Why not?” asked Cyrus. “They exhibit a fault- 
less exterior, are well-polished, groomed to the 
height of fashion, have a valet to curl their whisk- 
ers, tie their cravats, put on their shoes, etc., etc., 
the same as our New York pampered debutantes 
have a maid to frizzle their hair, lace their corsets, 
button their waists in the back, etc. They capture 
the girl and her money in one stroke, hie themselves 
off to continental Europe and laugh at us fellows 
who let such rich plunder slip through our fingers.” 

“I’m going to have my Senator introduce a bill 
in Congress calling for a taxation of thirty per 
cent, on all dowries taken from this country to 
Europe through the medium of these international 
marriages,” and then and there the three of us be- 
came involved in a lively wrangle over the possibil- 
ity of such a bill becoming a law, and thus whiled 
away the evening by the discussion of a topic that 
had feasted upon our individual minds for many 
days and weeks. 


OHAPTEK XXL 


p. s. 


WITH APOLOGIES TO THE HEIRESSES NAMED, 

“During Russian famines the peasants some- 
times sell their daughters to buy bread. Infinitely 
Avorse are the American parents who permit their 
daughters to sell their womanhood, their country, 
their language and their religion to worthless cads 
of foreign titles.” 

Thus the Eev. Dr. Robert Stewart MacArthur 
hurled the above stinging denunciation, and more, 
too, at American “nobility-seekers” during an ad-- 
dress before the recent Current Events Class of 
the Calvary Baptist Church in West Fifty-seventh 
Street, New York. 

“American money has kept European aristocracy 
from sinking into oblivion,” he added, a palpable 
truth, the asseverations of royalty to the contrary 
notwithstanding. 

“These abominable transactions in sale and pur- 


WITH APOLOGIES TO HEIRESSES 305 


chase (like the knocking down of a puddle at a 
public auction) bring the blush to the cheek of 
eA^ery worthy American. Eecent events in England 
and France are a reproach to noble manhood and 
true womanhood on both sides of the sea. 

^^Certain of these titled foreigners deserve and 
receive the contempt of all true American men 
and women. How can these women so far forget 
a worthy and religious American ancestry as to 
forswear the religion of their fathers and the coun- 
try of their own birth? Are their impecunious, 
often worthless, husbands a sufficient return for 
their renunciation of their faith? Are other miser- 
able married lives soon to be reported from over 
the sea? Are separations and divorces again to 
occupy the attention of foreign courts and to fill 
the newspaper columns of America? 

^^feurely the time will come’’ (when the frazzled 
pundles of society have more brains than money, 
a possibility hibernating in the nest of oblivion) 
^‘when a true American woman will have no higher 
ambition than to be the wife of an intelligent, in- 
dustrious and patriotic American and the mother 
of noble American sons and daughters. Many 
American women of wealth and culture to-day re- 
joice in this honor. They hold in slight esteem 
the woman who will renounce country and religion 


306 


SILENCE 


for a worthless foreign title and perhaps a still 
more worthless foreign husband. 

“Who is the next American woman who will 
virtually advertise her American millions for a 
foreign title? God help American parents to have 
a nobler ambition for their daughters. God help 
American daughters to have more respect for their 
womanhood !” 

To quote a recent newspaper article relative to 
the wild spread oMnternational marriages and the 
proposed dowry tax : 

“The sentiment of the country, especially of the 
interior parts, where the simple life and high re- 
publican ideals are still in respect, appears at last 
to have been thoroughly aroused by the practice of 
bartering American girls and their fortunes for for- 
eign titles. 

“Public opinion has been deeply stirred by the 
marriage of Miss Gladys Vanderbilt, with her for- 
tune of 112,000,000, and Count Szechenyi, the Hun- 
garian nobleman. This event, following imme- 
diately upon the revelations of the disastrous Van- 
derbilt-Marlborough and the Gould-Castellane mar- 
riages, has convinced a great many thoughtful and 
patriotic persons that the American nation is in 
the presence of a very real danger. 

“This is no longer a subject for mirth, although 
some of the foreign noblemen concerned appear “.o 


WITH APOLOGIES TO HEIRESSES 307 

ridiculous in the eyes of mature Americans that 
it is impossible to suppress a jest when referring 
to them. The question has become a subject of 
legislation in the United States Congress and at 
least one State Legislature — that of New York. 

“During the past generation foreign noblemen 
and other foreigners of rank who have married 
American girls have carried out of this country 
1217,000,000 of good American money. If the pro- 
posed taxes of twenty-five per cent, of the United 
States Government, and 20 per cent, of the States 
had been imposed the nation would have save<l 
197,650,000 from the total, or else many of the mar- 
riages would not have taken place, which would 
have been still better. 

“Still another case has been forced upon the per- 
sonal attention of the legislators at Washington. 
Miss Mathilde Townsend, a very beautiful girl who 
is credited with a fortune of |10,000,000, is a resi- 
dent of the capital and she has been pursued with 
peculiar avidity by fortune-hunting foreign noble- 
men. The Duke of Alba, who bears one of the 
proudest and most ancient titles in Spain, was her 
most ardent, yet business-like suitor. He possesses 
just the kind of a title that would fascinate a 
romantic young girl, but he made such remarkable 
demands that Miss Townsend’s trustees wisely de- 
clined to do business with him. The negotiations 


308 


SILENCE 


were prolonged and acrimonious. Nevertheless 
legislators feel that Miss Townsend will be cap- 
tured by some nobleman, unless they take steps 
to prevent it. They are anxious, if possible, to 
keep her and her fortune in Washington.” 

The above I doubt, and I hope with palpable 
grounds. If Miss Townsend, a personified Venus 
with copper-burnished tresses and figure like the 
Greek’s rosy-fingered Aphrodite, possesses the 
American mind of her grandfather, Scott, then the 
Duke of Alba or any other foreign money-grubbing 
rake becomes a non-existent factor, and may as 
well hie themselves back to their worthless mort- 
aage-eaten estates. To digress a little with the 
hope that this most beautiful, broad-minded and 
highlv intellectual daughter of Liberty will bear 
me no ill-will. The Scotts, Tracys, Strongs and 
Townsends, all related by marriage, and all of Erie, 
Pennsylvania, are the unadulterated exponents of 
aristocracy in this country, if there really be such 
a thing, owing allegiance to the Stars and Stripes. 
For eleven years I lived in Erie, and know whereof 
I speak. This woman, far more beautiful than the 
famous Langtry or Gibson sisters, was then in knee- 
skirts and pigtails, and I in blouse and short 
breeches. As a girl she was most democratic, dis- 
daining not to play with the girls and boys of her 
own age and of mediocre wealth, so strikingly dif- 


WITH APOLOGIES TO HEIRESSES 309 


ferent from the present pampered children of the 
very wealthy. High-minded and noble when in 
her teens, and come from a sturdy stock of pioneers^ 
it is — at least I hope so — improbable that she will 
even consider in the remotest manner the possi- 
bility of a titled foreigner as her prospective lord 
and master. The greatest gift that the gods can 
shower uxmn a woman, Beauty, is hers; next, a 
sufficient amount of the world’s goods to keep her 
in luxury and in ease during her life, together with 
every available opportunity of forming an alliance 
wdth a good, courageous son of Old Glory, why 
then should she turn her beautiful eyes toward a 
titled renegade from nowhere? 

In the House of Eepresentatives Congress- 
man Adolph M. Sabath, of Chicago, introduced a 
bill imposing a tax of 25 per cent, on all dowries, 
gifts, settlements or advances of money or propertyj 
in consideration of marriages of citizens of the 
United States to foreigners. The bill has been 
[presented so that there can be no evasion. The 
money is to be paid into the Treasury of the United 
States and the Secretary of the Treasury is directed 
to organize a suitable department to collect the tax. 

The Hon. Mr. Sabath supported his measure 
with very cogent and moderate arguments. The 
American young man, beginning life and desiring 
to marry an American heiress, which he clearly 


310 


SILENCE 


has as much right to do as a foreigner, is placed 
at an unfair disadvantage as compared with that 
foreigner. Assume that both the American and 
the foreigner are without capital. The American 
has nothing but his sterling moral worth, his in- 
dustry and intelligence, whereas the foreigner pos- 
sesses a title which no American can have, and 
which, as everybody knows, possesses a remarkable 
glamor for a young American girl. ^ 

One may ask whether the moral qualities of 
the American man are not a sufficient offset to 
the title of the foreigner. It must be rememberei 
that a young girl of twenty or less is not likely 
to be able to appreciate a man’s moral qualities 
in the highest degree, whereas she is extremely 
susceptible to the title of the foreigner, and prob- 
ably to his superficial attractions, such as his waxed 
mustaches, his glib conversation, his graceful man- 
ners and his affected familiarity with music, art 
and literature. Thus it happens that a girl fre- 
quently succumbs to the fascinations of a worth- 
less foreigner at twenty, whom she would not ac- 
cept if she were thirty. 

Clearly the American suffers from unfair for- 
eign competition in the matter of courtship. Upon 
the principle of our protective tariff he is entitled 
to such treatment as will place him at a certain 


WITH APOLOGIES TO HEIRESSES 311 


advantage, instead of a disadvantage, as compared 
with the foreigner. 

^^How is this object to be attained? It is not 
wise to forbid such marriages, because that is an 
interference with freedom of personal action, which 
always provokes resistance. It would be equally 
unjust to exclude the noblemen from this country 
or to put a prohibitive tax upon them, for that 
would deprive them of the privilege of becoming 
democratic American citizens, if they feel disposed 
to lead a better life. 

What better way can there be than to collect 
a large tax from the fortune of the girl who desires 
the superfluous and unwholesome luxury of 
marrying a foreign nobleman? 

That will place the American suitor upon some- 
thing like an equality. The girl will say: ^^This 
nobleman is very nice, but if I marry him I lose 
a quarter of my fortune.^’ 

Then perhaps she will pause and consider the 
moral qualities and sterling worth of her Amer- 
ican suitor. That will give him a reasonable op- 
portunity to win her away from his foreign com- 
petitor. 

In Congress Eepresentative Charles McGavin, 
of Chicago, a brilliant orator, made some very in- 
teresting comments on his colleague, Mr. Sabath’s 
bill. They were made on the same day of the Van- 


312 


SILENCE 


derbilt-Szechenyi Avedding, and were evidently 
called forth by it. 

“Every day seems to be bargain day in the great 
city of New York,” said the Hon. Mr. McGavin, 
“whether it be for a yard of ribbon or a pound of 
flesh; whether it be upon the retail counter of 
Broadway or the auction block of Fifth Avenue. 

“I do not wish to aiiude to any particular girl or 
any particular foreigner. I have in mind only 
those who have monocles in their eyes, and idiotic 
looks upon their faces — those who have neither the 
disposition to do good nor the ability to do harm. 

“It may not be amiss to inquire what the state 
and the Union is coming to in view of these inter- 
national unions which are of such frequent occur- 
rence of late between American heiresses and al- 
leged nobility from abroad. 

“A bill has been introduced in the House by one 
of my colleagues from Chicago to levy a tax upon 
all dowries and settlements made by these heiresses 
or their parents upon their titled husbands. My 
curiosity was aroused to know to what committ<ie 
it might have to be referred, there being several 
committees with very appropriate names. 

“The Committee on Foreign Eelations might do, 
or the Committee on Interstate and Foreign Com- 
merce might also be appropriate; but on further 
thought and examination I found it had been very 


WITH APOLOGIES TO HEIRESSES 313 


properly referred to the Ways and Means Com- 
mittee/ inasmuch as it sought to levy a tax; and, 
then I was more curious to know whether the pres- 
ent tariff schedule included dukes, earls, lords and 
counts, and finding that these things were not here 
mentioned I thought that it might be proper for 
the customs officer to classify them like frog^s 
legs or iDoultiy, for it is the general opinion 
among Americans that they are a species of 
geese. 

^^Mr. Chairman, we upon this side of the House 
have in recent years referred triumphantly to the 
fact that as between this and other nations the 
balance of trade was in our favor, but nowhere in 
the summary can be found a reference to such 
trade as this, where soiled and frayed nobility is 
exchanged for a feAV million American dollars 
wrung from the lambs of Wall Street, with a 
woman thrown in to boot. 

^^While I have engaged in some criticisms of 
these peculiar ones who have made a mockery of 
the most sacred relations of life — -of these not 
satisfied with any other name but Countess 
Spaghetti and Macaroni, I want to say one word 
in tribute to those true American women who 
spurned the wiles of Earls, Lords and Counts foi’ 
the love of his majesty an American citizen.” 

Mr. McGavin is a bachelor, but it is understood 


314 


SILENCE 


that he has hopes of saving somebody from the 
V iles of an unprincipled foreigner. 

The State of New York proposes to make it still 
more difficult to carry away the American heiress 
by imposing a State tax in addition to that im- 
posed by the United States. In doing this the 
State would be following the precedent in the regu- 
lation of the liquor business. The United States 
imposes a large tax upon the production of alco- 
holic liquors, but this does not prevent the State 
from placing a very large additional tax on all 
places where liquor is sold. 

In the New York Legislature Assemblyman 
Keller introduced a bill imposing a tax of 20 per 
cent, on all property above |100,000 belonging to 
women marrying foreigners. Either personal or 
real property situated in the State of New York 
would be taxed. Every contract of dowry or mar- 
riage settlement would have to be recorded as if it 
were a deed. The imposition of this tax in New 
York would have especially important results, as 
the majority of great fortunes coveted by foreign 
noblemen, like those of the Vanderbilts and Astors, 
are situated in this State. 

The additional 20 per cent, imposed in New York 
State would bring the total tax upon the fortune of 
a New York woman marrying a foreigner to 45 
per cent., or nearly half the entire property. This 


WITH APOLOGIES TO HEIRESSES 315 


:1s almost prohibitive and would certainly deter 
many heiresses from marrying foreigners. Mar- 
ried life with a titled husband calls for a large 
fortune in order that the wife as well as the hus- 
band may enjoy the privileges of her rank, and 
to give up half her fortune would deprive the wife 
of fully half the joys of such a marriage. 

Friends, relatives and legal advisers would urge 
upon her the unwisdom of contracting such a mar- 
riage, and in the vast majority of cases she would. 
Assemblyman Keller believes, prefer to remain an 
American. 

Just why our free-born daughters of liberty sell 
themselves bag and baggage to foreigners seems be- 
yond the understanding of the average American. 
A high-bred, democratic heiress is lured by the 
empty glamor of a titled idiot, marries him, and 
in a few years secures a divorce, settling an an- 
nuity of fifty or one hundred thousand dollars on 
the miserable wretch — a pampered sybarite who is 
too lazy to even button his shoes, a worn-out, ner- 
vous rake whose bride is compelled to pay for the 
flowers and engagement ring that he bestowed upon 
her, his goddess of hope, in the shape and form of 
good, hard-earned American dollars. 

One of the most caustic articles written in thc» 
last decade denouncing these titled cads and 
senseless heiresses appeared in the New York Joui}- 


316 


SILENCE 


jial; and, as a great many aristocratic geese are 
still for sale in the matrimonial mart, I hereby 
affix the editorial and hope that the nibbling as- 
jnrants to the domains of Dukes and Counts will 
peruse it carefully and ponder over each line ere 
committing their gold and souls to the keeping of 
foreign profligates, the like of which our fore- 
fathers kicked out of this country in 1779. 

“More than a hundred years ago American men 
were driving Englishmen and their king and their 
titles out of this country. 

“We thought over here that we all wanted to 
be equal. We got up a constitution wiping our 
titles. We all decided to be known as Mr., Miss 
or Mrs. American Citizen. We even forbade by 
law any creation of titles or other encouragement 
of European flummery. 

“What happens now? Many of our women with 
money rush around in the wake of a title more 
ardently than the old patriots followed in the wake 
of a fleeing redcoat. 

“Some little, insignificant sample of foreign born 
humanity, a washed-out, squandered-out, morally, 
financially and physically bankrupt titled nobody 
comes to America, and our women, usually sane, 
go out of their minds. 

“Mothers pursue these worthless titled speci- 
mens, daughters dream about them. We are 


WITH APOLOGIES TO HEIRESSES 317 


obliged to print their pictures and their names, 
and portraits of their waistcoats and pantaloons 
in this newspaper day by day, in order to follow 
up our rule and ^give the people what they want/ 

^^Isn’t it possible for American women to realize 
that the title of Count or Prince means absolutely, 
nothing in France, and still less in America? 

^^Can’t our women understand that what they 
want to look for in a man are health, brains, the 
ability to look after, and especially the conscience 
that a woman can respect and upon which she can 
rely? 

^^One of our young women, idiotically described 
in the new^spapers, including our own, as ^^Our 
Duchess,^’ married a little English fool, Marlbor- 
ough — a man just four degrees above an idiot, and 
physically looking like the tail-end fragment of 
sweatshop exploitation. 

‘‘We all know that the worship of titles, the ser- 
vile following after rank, is very deeply ingrained 
in the human mind. For tens of centuries the 
lucky man or woman has been the one familiar with 
the powers that held title. To sit as near the 
throne as possible, and bask in the smiles of the 
one on the throne, have meant safety, wealth, and 
ease. 

^^Ever since the days of Solomon and his glory, 
and long before, title has meant power and impor- 


318 


SILENCE 


tance, and title-hunting has been the work of the 
little human beings. 

“You can’t take out of the human being in five 
minutes that which has slowly been put into him 
during fifty centuries. Well-meaning vegetarians 
know how hard it is to cure themselves of the meat 
habit that began thirty thousand years ago, when 
one of our ancestors captured an enemy and ate 
him. 

“Our great American task is to develop in the 
American people real democracy. And women — 
who are really democratic at heart, since in their 
deepest consciousness they acknowledge only the 
superiority of good looks or good brains — ought to 
lead in the fight against snobbish reverence for 
titles. 

“Mothers should teach their sons and their 
daughters that the difference between one man and 
another, one woman and another — the only differ- 
ence that counts — is the difference in ability or in 
goodness. 

^‘If you find a hundred American women desper- 
ately struggling for ‘social advancement,’ trying to 
know so-called fashionable people who don’t w’ant 
to know them, you will find ninety-nine women 
discouraged, unhappy — and one more or less suc- 
cessful goose. 

“The American woman, when disloyal to the 


WITH APOLOGIES TO HEIRESSES 319 


American idea of democracy and equality, repre- 
sents a real danger, because she impresses the chil- 
dren and forms the character of the next genera- 
tion. 

^^The man who is to be President of the United 
States fifty years hence is sitting about at this mo- 
ment in his little short trousers, listening eagerly 
to every word that his mother says. 

^^That is the responsibility that rests upon 
women. They create the next generation first, 
bringing it into the world with sutfering. And 
then, having created a living creature, they edu- 
cate it, direct its thought, make upon its sensitive 
mind impressions during the first seven years that 
cannot be wiped out in seventy. 

^Women, be sensible, sane, democratic human 
beings. If you want to respect any title, respect 
the title to human gratitude that men and women 
of real power have earned by real work. 

^AVhen you have about you young men and 
w^omen full of possibilities, earnest, energetic, 
promising, how can you waste your time on the 
titled idiocies from other countries? 

^^Those that are free from this contagion should 
fight it. And ridicule is the best fighting weapon.’’ 


CHAPTER XXII. 


SIGHT-SEEING. 

During a trip of sight-seeing Cyrus, Mr. Cassa- 
way and myself visited a building called the “Ba- 
bildo,” the original courthouse built by the Span- 
iards, turned over to the French, and finally to 
Uncle Sam, its age being over twn hundred and 
fifty years. 

And the Absinthe Hall, very old, and famed for 
its many drinking carousals, we inspected with 
keen interest and curiosity, as did we the old, tum- 
bledown Louis Hotel, best remembered because it 
sheltered the last Bourbon King of France to visit 
this country. 

Esplanade, St. Charles and Prytannia Streets are 
the de luxe ones of New Orleans; Royal, Decatur 
and those in immediate contiguity about the 
dirtiest ones that I have seen, where filth did to 
shame those of Constantinople which, for some er- 
roneous reason, have enjoyed an 'international 
reputation for their squalor for many years. Yet 

320 


SIGHT^SEEING 


321 


Mr. Cassaway, a man who had traveled most ex- 
tensively, gave us to understand that in no city 
that he had visited had he seen the like of the 
streets above named. 

That since famous house on Royal Street, where 
the United States Government officials had to tear 
away half of the second-story front so as to allow^ 
a full-grown cow to be swung to terra firma by 
means of block and tackle, was shown us. Prob- 
ably if ^^Yellow Jack^’ had not paid a visit to the 
town the cow in question would be supplying its 
owners with milk, eating garbage in the small 
bedroom, which it never left from the day 
of its advent when a bleating calf until as above 
stated. 

And these garlic-eating Gascons appear to thrive 
in filth. Philadelphia has a national reputation for 
its bedbugs and tin-roofs, Boston its beans, and 
Washington, D. C., its paradise for negroes and 
quaint names for streets, as: Goat Alley, 
Pig-Tree Court — where this street derives 
the double entendre in its appellation is 
a mystery — and Lincoln Court, after our be- 
loved and first-martyred President, about 
the fiercest hole of blood-thirsty and lawless 
Ethiopians that I have seen in any Southern city; 
yet, none of these cities can compare with New 
Orleans and its eternal pest, the mosquito. Wer% 


322 


SILENCE 


I to set in type some of the sights that I witnessed, 
the reader would throw this book in the fire, sick 
at heart and soul at the utter depravity of these 
an-American people. I cannot bring myself to ex- 
ploit them in this volume, for it contains enough as 
it is to make the average man lose his courage. 

The town is Catholic, the press leans toward 
Catholicity, the banks, corporations and business 
houses make no secret of their Catholic proclivi- 
ties and tendencies, yet, with all this outw^ard show 
of religion, it vies with Paterson, New Jersey, 
and Allentown, Pennsylvania, for unashamed 
lewdness. 

In a Catholic Church that w^e visited, on Camp 
Street, near Girard, I think it bore the name of 
St. Joseph, the walls within were placarded with 
such delightful notices, to wit: Funeral services, 
$10; requiem mass, |25; baptism, |5, etc., etc. I 
can even mention the name of a deceased and the 
name of the Shylock priest who absolutely refused 
to read or even allow the corpse to be entered in 
the cemetery because the poor, bereaved widow had 
not the required amount of toll, |10. And, prob- 
ably the buzzards would have carried the remains 
away had not the undertaker, a man who has done 
more for humanity than Carnegie or Rockefeller, 
paid the avaricious priest his clamoring money. 
What a sublime example of modern Christianity ! 


SIGHTSEEING 


323 


Every grocery store has a bar attached where 
beer on draught and whiskey is sold over the coun- 
ter, for which privilege a tax of |100 is levied by 
the city, whilst the regular saloons pay but $200. 
Is there then any real wonder that the young men 
are drunkards, that the woman who styles herself 
^‘Southland Writer’’ can get paralyzed drunk every 
night in the week, despite her gray hairs and load 
of some sixty-odd years? 

In broad daylight in front of the houses, seated 
in the threshold or hanging half -naked out of the 
windows, the soulless wrecks of creatures who sold 
their womanhood to the devil, bivouac for the ap- 
pearance of a man, grab him by the collar and 
literally force him into their putrid den. Even as 
I write this I smile with content when I bethink 
myself of the broken teeth, half inlaid with gold, 
that Cyrus inflicted with his terrible flst as a hussy 
pounced upon him like a jackal upon a carcass. 
And this, readers, in broad daylight, on a beautiful 
wide street right off Canal, the main thoroughfare, 
a stone’s throw from the beautiful Elk’s Home ! 

Baltimore and Philadelphia have beautiful ceme- 
teries, yet I make bold to say that there is in no 
other city in this country a burying ground that, 
for natural beauty and costly monuments, can 
compare with New Orleans’ Metairie. It is a place 
not to mourn. Go there early in the day, before 


324 


SILENCE 


the sun is high in the heavens and you will see a 
sight that will delight your soul, such as the Bruus- 
wig, Howard, Spofford and de Buys tombs. 

And the rich beauty of Audubon Park is a climax 
of Nature’s happiest mood. Giant water oaks, with 
spreading hands three and even four feet in diam- 
eter, stand like gods in this park, their brobding- 
nagian limbs strewn with a peculiar gray moss that 
grows to a length of seven and eight feet. 

And Cyrus reveled in this undreamt delight of 
semi-tropical grandeur. With his pipe between his 
lips he lay on the grass and peered into the tangled 
branches of the oaks, through whose aperture a 
mellow rift of emerald sky could be seen. 

‘‘It seems like Paradise, Mr. Cassaw'ay.” 

“So it does, boy. Ouch!” and he slapped his 
bald head with great force. 

“What has happened?” from Cyrus as he rose 
to a sitting posture. 

“A friendly mosquito kissed our friend,” and I 
laughed heartily as he winked at me and wrinkled 
his face in mock fury. 

“And spoiled the beautiful illusion of Paradise, 
Cyrus. I guess we’re still in the environs of a 
dirty, garlic-eating Gascon burg.” 

“They call this Audubon Park.” 

“You might know that it would be burdened 


SIGHT^SEEINa 


325 


with a name of some unspeakable lingo/’ rubbing 
his head reminiscently. 

^^It’s magnificent though, Mr. Cassaway. If 
there are any trees in Paradise I should paint them 
just like these, majestic in their bearing and 
gigantic of stature. What a superb place for a 
poet !” 

^^And an artist?” 

^Wes, Et’, an artist. We must bring the Coun- 
tess to this park, let her view the sublime beauty 
and dignity of these patriarchal water-oaks, the 
spangled threads of moss, and inhale the sweet per- 
fume of the grass, so tender in its greenness and 
soft to the touch of man. 

*^^Give me my palette, brush and canvas, and I 
will paint for you a sight for the gods. Cyclopean 
storms with rifts of white-capped mountain crested 
waves I’d reproduce in a thousand shades and 
tones; rolling swathes of fleeting clouds of bronze 
and gold that dip their prows into a diamond- 
studded sky from w^hich the alabaster lamps of 
Paradise shine with eternal brilliancy, I’d paint 
for you, Mr. Cassaway, and for my love, a sea of 
ebony beyond the skyline’s dome, w^here Thor raps 
thunder from his secret lee on high and chains of 
zigzag lightning race from pole to pole, and gyra- 
tory windstorms w^histling dirges to the tombs of 
medieval ages that bit the Dust of Oblivion w^hen 


326 


SILENCE 


Cyprus vied with Carthage for the high sea’s trade, 
and Athens with Olympia for sculpture and the 
arts. O, I would paint Dame Nature in all her 
freaks and fancies, in all her sublime loveliness, 
and all her angry moods: when cyclones whistle 
from the bowels of old mother Earth and ravage 
with the pinioned lust of Belzebuth the face of 
dell and vale; when mournful winds descend from 
regions far and high, and chant a fitful hymn to 
those whose bones are bleached in charnel houses 
dank with putrid odors; or Venus in her crystal 
bath of onyx water beneath a copper moon in a 
bed of emerald, the tint of flesh like the hidden 
blush of rose, her hair like fioating strands of 
twisted gold.”* 

The pipe fell from his fingers, and in silence he 
stared from one to the other, his face glowing red 
as with the blush of shame. 

“Gad, boy, but you’re a poet! Go on, go on!” 
and he propped his back against the tree and closed 
bis eyes as if he feasted on the rapturous adjectives 
from my friend and brother. 

“Have you lost the trend of your poetical 
thought?” 

“Yes. Off toward the west between the fiight of 
Sol and the tangled ribboned light of gray and sil- 
ver it has flown.” 


*With permission from '‘Betelguese.’ 


SIGHT-SEEING 


327 


‘‘xlnd you’re a painter?” 

“Only an apology at present, but I hope to be 
some day.” 

“Cyrus, boy, if I had a son with your tempera- 
ment and gifts I would be willing to give to charity 
my nine millions of dollars that I have been several 
decades in accumulating and start all over again.” 

“Thanks for your compliment.” 

“Look here, boy, do you want any money to con- 
tinue your studies in Europe? If so I will give 
you an endorsed check-book and send you off. All 
you will have to do is to fill in the amount, pre- 
sent it at a bank and, presto! the check is paid.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Cassaway. I appreciate your 
spontaneous offer.” 

“Spontaneous? Ye gods!” 

“Your open-heartedness. However, if you will 
pardon me for saying so, your offer has come too 
late. I have carved out the path of my career, 
have a certain work to accomplish and, if after 
its consummation I should still be as far removed 
from my goal as at present, I will, should you so 
desire, accept your magnanimous offer and go to 
Europe for a year or two.” 

“What are you painting now?” 

“Venus taking her bath.” 

“T want the commission of selling it.” 

“ ’Tis granted.” 


328 


SILENCE 


«And I sell it, too, if I have to buy it myself,” 
he whispered in my ear, then chuckled mischie- 
vously, sensing pleasure in this all too prospective 
possibility. 

“Is there no drinking water in this park?” asked 
€yrus after a moment’s silence. 

“Are you thirsty, hoy?” 

“Yes.” 

“So am I. Suppose we go over to yonder house, 
or whatever it is, and see whether we can find some 
decent aqua. Are you coming along, Bangs?” 

“No. I will await your return here under this 
beautiful tree,” and with my back against its trunk, 
I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts to roan> 
at will as Cyrus and the elder Cassaway left to 
slack their thirst. 

“Is this scenery not exquisite?” I heard a man s 
voice ask a few minutes later, and opening my 
eyes I looked about me, but saw no one. 

“The hotel clerk informed me that I would he 
delighted, and I am. We must bring father to this 
park to-morrow, for he is very fond of natural 
scenery.” 

“Deuced strange!” I apostrophized as I rubbed 
my eyes again and looked, yet neither of the speak- 
ers could I see from whence I sat. 

“Have you seen the Metairie Cemetery?” 

“No. Why do you ask? Surely a burying 


SIGHT-SEEING 


329 


ground has no attractions for a sightseer?’’ 

^^Oh, yes, at least this one has,” and as he 
launched into a hypotyposis of the renowned 
cemetery, I stole around the huge trunk of the oak 
10 see who the man and woman could be, then re- 
ceded, for the man was the Count Stratskyi and 
his companion the beautiful daughter-in-law of 
Mr. Cassaway. 

I was shocked at this discovery, and racked 
my brains for a solution as to the modus operandi 
of the profligate Count in securing an introduc- 
tion to this woman whom he had never met in 
Smart Society. 

^^Just look at that strange moss, Count, high up 
on the tree. Is it not most beautiful?” 

^^Yes, Miss Esty, it is superb.” 

^^Esty!” I ejaculated beneath my breath. So 
she had herself introduced by her maiden name. 
I wonder why? 

^^And these trees are really oaks? They appear 
so, and yet their leaves are so entirely different 
to those that grow in the East.” 

^^Here come friends of mine. Miss Esty; people 
that you will admire and delight to know,” and in 
another moment, ^^How do you do, friends ! Allow 
me to introduce you to Miss Esty. Mr. and Mrs. 
Cassaway, of New York and New Orleans, Miss 
Esty.” 


330 


SILENCE 


“Heavens !” I gasped as I stole a look at tlie new- 
comers from my vantage point, quivering with ex- 
citement. 

“I have met the lady and gentleman before, 
Count,” with a haughty toss of her head and scorn 
in her blue eyes. 

These constituents of the confluent avenues of 
gayety colored but slightly as they surveyed thq 
outraged wife before them, beaming with compla^ 
cent smiles at the ignorant introducer, who found 
himself in a quandary from which he saw no im- 
mediate avenue of escape. 

“How is it that you did not attend the races this 
noon. Count?” asked Mrs. Cassaway, after a mo- 
mentary pause. 

“I was introduced to this most charming woman 
here by a new acquaintance of mine; and, as she 
is an Easterner, and had not been to the city be- 
fore, I wished to avail myself of the opportunity 
of showing her the sights.” 

“Have you seen the Metairie Cemetery, Miss 
Esty?” 

“No,” recomposing herself by studying the 
nearby oaks. 

“Then, Count, you must not fail to show her 
this delightful place.” 

“Yes, Count; my wife is right. And as the day 
is young yet, I advise you to take your charge there 


SIGHT-SEEING 


331 


to-day. It is much grander in scenic beauty than 
this park/’ 

Shall we go. Miss Esty?” 

^^Not to-day, Count. I much prefer to remain 
here for a while and inspect the superb beauty of 
these god-like oaks. I do so wish that my artist 
friend, Mr. Cyrus Scencio, were here to enjoy with 
me this natural magnificence,” glancing sharply at 
the two faces of the Count’s new acquaintances. 

^^Cyrus Scencio?” from the Count. 

^^Yes. A great painter, sir.” 
have heard of him.” 

^^You?” 

^A"es. A day or so ago we met, and, unfortu- 
nately he made a very bad impression on me, and 
I think I did on him.” 

^^Had you been introduced?” 

''No.” 

"That accounts for it then. Count. I assure 
you that he is a most delightful companion when 
once you understand him. My father predicts a 
very bright future for him in his chosen profession 
Though, just why his wife should have left him, 
and eloped with another woman’s husband is be- 
yond me, seeing that he was a most faithful hus- 
band and with such brilliant prospects.” 

Black thoughts of murder stormed the soul of 
her ex-husband as he thus was forced to listen to 


332 


SILENCE 


rhe recital of his cowardly act by his one-time wife. 

“Was the woman who eloped a member of your 
best society?” 

“No. She came of a mediocre family from the 
South. I think it was this very city.” 

“New Orleans?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the husband was faithful?” 

“And devoted as a man can be.” 

“And the man, what did he do to reconcile 
himself to his sorrow?” 

“Nearly killed the man and woman.” 

“It would have served them right.” 

“Do you think so, Count?” 

“I do, friend Cassaway. The woman must have 
been a wild and soulless jade, judging from what 
I hear.” 

“You here, Mrs. Cassaway? How delightful!” 
and the Countess embraced the ex-wife of young 
Cassaway most affectionately, then surveyed the 
others in haughty silence and mien. 

The ramifications in sight were laughable, and 
delighted me to the point where spontaneous laugh- 
ter had to be checked with a bunch of grass so as 
not to divulge my immediate presence. 

“Miss Silence, allow me to introduce you to the 
Count Gustave Adelphi Englebert von Stratskyi, 
of Hungary.” 


SIGHT-SEEING 


333 


Count?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“They are not persona grata with me, friend, 
though no insult is meant to the gentleman you 
would introduce.” 

“Your name,” scratching his head in doubt, “is 
Cassaway, is it not?” pointing to Wilburt. 

“No, sir.” 

“What?” 

“My name is Sassasay, Count.” 

Again I made use of a gag to stifite the mad de- 
sire to laugh outright on acconnt of the ludicrous 
perplexity of the nobleman, and the ramifications 
brought about so unexpectedly. 

“Pardon me, but I thought your name was 
Esty?” 

“So it is. Count.” 

“And yet this lady greeted you as Mrs. Cassa* 
way !” 

“Which was my married name. Count. I am 
now a widow, if you please, and have a perfect 
right to use my maiden name, have I not?” 

“Yes. But why not introduce your charming 
friend to the Sassasays?” 

“Thunder and blazes!” and Mr. Cassaway, Sr., 
halted abrnptly before the tree, and surveyed the 
men and women before him in consternation, whilst 


334 


Kji s j /v'iV (j]j] 


I emerged from my place of concealment and 
whispered the news into Cyrus’ ears. 

“Mr. Cassaway, my friend Miss Silence, the 
Count Stratskyi of Hungary, and the Sassasays of 
New Orleans,” and when the dumbfounded man of 
finance had accepted the introduction, “Mr. Everett 
Bangs and Mr. Cyrus Scencio, allow me to intro- 
duce you to my friends,” whereupon the two of us 
were compelled to acknowledge the introduction 
without creating a scene, a monumental task for 
my friend Cyrus, whose brows were knitted in an 
ugly wrinkle as he forced himself to the disagree- 
able task. 

“I started this morning on a sight-seeing expedi- 
tion, and it appears that I have more than suc- 
ceeded.” 

“How so, Mr. Cassaway?” 

“Because, little girl,” stroking his daughter-in- 
law’s hair, “I have been an eye-witness to the ma- 
king of a cat’s-paw out of a real foreign noble- 
man.” 

The bomb had exploded, as I knew that it must 
sooner or later, and in something like trepidation 
I awaited the result of this sudden explosive. 

“Your reference is most insolent, sir,” and the 
Count strode up to the elder man in a hostile mood. 

“You appear unduly excited and vexed, Count.” 


SIGHT-SEEING 


335 


“What meant you by your insulting remarks, 
sir?” 

“Who is this lady, Count?” pointing at the 
former wife of his son. 

“Miss Esty.” 

“I beg your pardon. The lady is Mrs. Oassa- 
way.” 

“And now is a widow.” 

“And there stands her recalcitrant husband.” 

“What?” receding in pure astonishment. 

“And this is Cyrus Scencio, the man who gave 
you a lesson in polite manners not so many hours 
ago, and who is the ex-husband of that woma.n 
there.” 

“The one that you said was a hussy, Count,” I 
interposed so as to make things more interesting 
to all concerned. 

“Oh, I beg your pardon, madame,” hastening 
up to her and possessing one of her hands with 
the intention of kissing it. 

“Your insults are unpardonable,” slapping him 
in the face with the hand he fain would have 
kissed. 

Baffled by this perplexing denouement he stood 
there, red in the face and speechless with amaze- 
ment. 

“Mrs. Cassaway, allow me to introduce you to 
my ex-husband, the Count Gustave AdelpK Engle- 


336 


SILENCE 


bert von Stratskyi of Hungary,” and the Countess 
presented the startled Mrs. Cassaway number one 
to the dumbfounded roue, to the supreme delecta- 
tion of my friends and self, and to the evident 
discomfiture of the introduced. 

^‘You! You! the ex-husband of my friend. Miss 
Silence? Impossible !” 

“And you the ex-husband of this charming wo- 
man? Impossible !” and he shook his head in doubt 
as he surveyed the passion-lit face of the younger 
Cassaway and the whitened one of the latter’s one- 
time wife. 

“I am the ex-countess Stratskyi, Florence, hav- 
ing secured a divorce from that creature a few 
years ago. Of his royal attainments and proclivi- 
ties I will relate to you at a more propitious hour. 
At present let this suffice as a warning. The man 
is not the kind of an associate that I should like 
to see you in company with.” 

“Who introduced you to him, Florence?” 

“Mr. Knox, the gentleman whom you introduced 
me to a few days ago.” 

“See to it, dear, that you shun him in the future 
as one does the bubonic plague. Come now, time 
is getting short and we must be getting back to 
town,” and with her arm linked in his he faced 
about and proceeded toward the grounds’ exit, 
whilst Cyrus and the Countess departed hand in 


SIGHT-SEEING 


337 


hand, leaving me the sole witness to this closing 
drama. 

^^Mrs. Cassaway, I do not know how to sue for 
pardon/’ 

^‘Yon need not.” 

^^But I have insulted you most grossly, and that 
unintentionally.” 

^^Did you not mean what you said?” 

^^Come, Janice, overlook the trap in which our 
friend found himself.” 

will not. He called me a jade and hussy. 
And you, my husband, stand here and sue for this 
creature’s pardon!” 

^^Madame, I entreat you ” 

want nothing more to do with you, sir.” 

^^But I am innocent, madame. How could I 
have known this complex relationship existing 
between you and the other people?” 

^^Even so, you had no right to call the woman 
a hussy.” 

^^For which transgression I sue for forgiveness.” 

^^And which is denied you. I understand your 
motive though, Count, a despicable one at that. 
You thought that by denouncing the former wife 
of the artist friend of your new acquaintance that 
you would be ingratiating yourself into her good 
graces, that she possesses money (she only has nine 


338 


SILENCE 


millions, Count) and that you might see your way 
clear in making her your second Countess.” 

“This will do, Janice.” 

“How dare you command me, sir!” 

“I am not exercising an unusual authority, dear. 
Through an unavoidable mistake the Count com- 
promised himself, ignorant of the true identity of 
the wife of Cyrus. Was he not given to under- 
stand that the woman was of mediocre birth?” 

“I am as good as she is!” 

“Better, darling!” 

“And my pedigree dates back to the early kings 
of France. And yet you allowed me to be grossly 
insulted! This has been an object lesson to me, 
Wilburt, one that I will not forget in a lifetime. 
If you wish to remain here and palaver with this 
foreign rake, do so. I am going home.” 

“Madame, you insult me.” 

“It is doubtful, sir, for your finer sensibilities 
have been deadened by your mode of living. Are 
you coming, Wilburt?” starting to leave the 
grounds. 

“I’ll see you at the Denechaud, Count,” then has- 
tened after his irate spouse and disappeared from 
view. 

As the Count had not seen me during the squab- 
ble with the wife of Wilburt, I now hastened be- 
hind the huge oak and watched the man as he un- 


SIGHT-SEEING 


339 


bosomed his sorrow to the sky. 

^^Nine millions!’’ he echoed. king’s ransom! 
And beautiful as an houri! Satan chase my das- 
tard soul, though!” and he swore lustily as he 
clenched his fists, ^^the woman is a divorcee. 
Cassaway is her ex-husband, his present wife 
is the ex-wife of that infernal artist, the bald- 
headed man is the father of young Cassaway 5 
the artist the former husband of the present 
Mrs. Cassaway the second ; Mrs. Esty, the lady 
with the millions, Mrs. Cassaway number one; 
the ex-countess the intimate friend of hers, 
and probably the inamorata of this artist 
with the Italian name! Heavens! will I 
ever get this tangle straight? And I called the wife 
of my friend a hussy and a jade! Oh, Lord!” and 
he made toward a distant automobile, gesticulating 
to himself as he went, whilst I returned to town in 
the plebeian street car laughing to myself at the 
perplexing quandary of my Count from Hungary. 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 


CITY PARK. 

In juxtaposition to the now extinct Louisiana 
Lottery, City Park compares most favorably if one 
weigh the ethical part of its aftermath. 

Five thousand Mrs. Vans (I call them so because 
a Mrs. Van whom I met at the track had lost three 
husbands, her children, four rooming-houses 
and even resorted to the desperate ex- 
pedient of setting fire to her house so as 
to collect the fire insurance and play the 
races) visit this gambling hell every day, 
whilst a lesser number pay their diurnal re- 
spects to the outlaw track across the river. And 
the habitues of the race tracks in New Orleans are 
an entire different class of people than those that 
support Bennings, Aqueduct and Sheepshead. The 
latter are patronized by people of means, the for- 
mer by mistresses of rooming houses, boarding 
houses, etc. It is nothing for a madam to go to 
City Park with her entire month’s rental (|900 

340 


CITY PARK 


341 


in one case), place it on a ^^snre’’ thing, and walk 
home, having not the requisite amount of car fare 
to take her back to the city. 

Husbands, wives and children are kept in rags 
and starvation by this insane gambling craze of 
either one of the parents. Here book agents, indus- 
trial life insurance panhandlers, conductors, mo- 
tormen, restaurant waiters, clerks, etc., etc., from 
each and every walk of life whose wages are 
meagre and hours long, play the races on a ^^tip,’^ 
and lose, thereby helping to swell the coffers of 
the soulless bookies, seven-eighths of whom are 
Jews. And these unsophisticated men and women 
really believe that they can beat the devil at his 
own game. If they take the same ^dong-shots’’ in 
escaping the mouth of hell and catching the 
through express for heaven, then I pity their des- 
tiny. Ministers, too, who ought to cry out against 
this spreading evil, are daily frequenters of this 
demoralizing den. When a minister of God takes 
up the cudgels in defence of race tracks and their 
concomitants, then it is about time that we say, 
^^Now I lay me down to sleep,” close our weary 
eyes and give our fighting soul and energies into 
the keeping of the merciful hereafter. 

Says the Rev. D. J. McCarthy, rector of St, 
Mark’s Church, Sheepshead Bay, in his letter to 
Governor Hughes : am happy and proud to be 


342 


SILENCE 


able to say that they (the race track thiefs and 
gamblers) are not what they are painted by soma 
of their maligners, but are, on the other hand, hon- 
est, conscientious and honorable. I know hundreds 
of our racing men who assist faithfully at Divine 
service every Sunday, and are really a credit to 
their church.” 

I should like to make the acquaintance of this 
priest and see what manner of man he be who thus 
raises his voice in behalf of this crying scourge. 
“They are honest, conscientious and honorable I” 
So is Satan and his brood of vampires. “They at- 
tend Divine service every Sunday!” Why not? 
Belonging to the same category as King Nick, who 
never fails to show his face at Divine service, they, 
too, show their fidelity to him by attending the sac- 
erdotal service; both are a “credit” to the church, 
for their business is of like nature, manufacturing 
moral lepers out of once virtuous men and 
women. 

If this priest’s church is kept from starvation 
by the blood shekels of race-track owners, gam- 
blers and bookies, then it is doomed, and presents 
itself as a temple of hypocrisy, catering to abom- 
inable Pharisees. 

The ethics of this man remind me of the peasant 
who had a grudge against a baker, went to the 
village confessor, said his “confitiator” and in- 


CITY PARK 


343 


formed the good priest that he had committed mur- 
der. Eeceiving absolution he left, hunted up his 
baker enemy and stabbed him through the heart 
wih a villainous-looking butcher knife. As he was 
in the act of cleaning his foul hands of his victim’s 
blood, the good priest entered the shop for his 
customary loaf of dry rye bread; and, seeing the 
murderous scene before him, denounced the culprit 
and announced that he was off to the village gen- 
darmie, whereupon the murderer informed him 
that he was bound by the oath of his church and 
the sacredness of the confessional not to divulge 
his rapacious deed because he, the murderer, had 
confessed to him his bloody deed prior to its ex- 
emplification ; and so with this Sheepshead priest. 
Se absolves the respectable and honorable gam- 
blers, receives their tainted gratuity and, in open 
print, espouses and defends a baneful institution 
which the press and clergy throughout the country 
are striving to abrogate. 

^^You might ask,” continues he, ^Vhat is the at- 
titude of the natives of Sheepshead Bay toward 
racing? There is only one answer. By far the 
vast majority are in favor of it, for it is their very 
bread and butter. Here there are no industries or 
manufactories of any kind. Hundreds are em- 
ployed in some capacity or other on the race-track, 
while hundreds of others derive their maintenance 


344 


SILENCE 


from the feeding and lodging of the racing element. 
Close the race-track, they say, and we will be 
forced to close our houses, and property will depre- 
ciate in value.” 

A logical deduction for one whose bread is but- 
tered by the lucre gleaned from faithful worship- 
ers of both race-track and St. Mark’s Church. 

Probably the Rev. D. J. McCarthy is prepared to 
rise to the defence of his western colleague, the 
Rev. Charles S. Brown, pastor of the Christian 
Church of Lees Summit, Mo., w'ho lost |300 of his 
parishioners’ money in an all-night poker game at 
Kansas City; and it is also probable that the 
Western divine would espouse his Eastern brother’s 
intercession for a continuation of the gambling at 
Sheepshead Bay. Why not? 

The Louisiana Lottery employed more people 
than Sheepshead, Brighton Beach, Aqueduct and 
several other gambling hells combined, but was con- 
victed as a simon pure gambling institution and 
driven from this country, fleeing to Honduras, 
where it died on its feet last year in a vain endeavor 
to resurrect its fallen power. If Sheepshead Bay 
will be wiped from the face of the map by the elim- 
ination of this cankering eyesore, and St. Mark’s 
Church close its doors on account of lack of funds, 
then let those citizens of real virtue and probity re- 
pair to some other city where manufacturing en- 


CITY PARK 


345 


terprises are to be found, where the woof and warp^ 
of Life’s countless miseries is not the fundamental 
evils bred by the fanatic craze of Chance, and the 
lop-eared, nasal-twanged, soulless sons of Israel 
who predominate as bookmakers at the race-tracks, 
veritable Shylocks, defended by a priest and 
judges as they suck the vitals of a blithering lamb, 
rob him of his honor, name and manhood, and turn 
his face toward a criminal career, a whiskey-empor- 
ium and the gallows. 

If craps and dice are amenable to the law, why 
not the races? Is the hazard not contingent on 
King Chance? Are the odds posted by the purvey- 
ors of this modern hell not dependent upon luck? 
Where no guarantee is given by the seller, where 
no tangible asset is exchanged for a dollar save, as 
is here the case, one-thousandth fraction of fickle 
possibility, the law should take cognizance of it 
and make it amenable to its statutes by prohibit- 
ing the practice with the application of both a fine 
and imprisonment for each infringment. Yet, para- 
doxical as it must appear to the average layman, 
Justice takes no notice of the horse-races, though it 
pounces upon the lesser evils of shooting dice and 
the game of poker. 

To all intents and purposes the administrators 
of justice in this country are suffering from an at- 
tack of moral blindness. Probably the gout has a 


346 


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strangle-hold on our poor overworked judges, thus 
prohibiting them the full use of their mental func- 
tions as they croon over a bundled foot, else (soft, 
for I am whispering this terrible secret of mine) 
the jingling music of the race-track owners’ filthy 
lucre lures them to the couch of soft, inanimate in- 
action; perchance like one William Travers Jer- 
ome, whose gilded cigarettes obscure the vision of 
corporate graft and all its allied concomitants 
in America’s greatest cosmopolitan city, against 
whom twenty-two specific charges were embodied 
in a petition recently filed with the Governor, ask- 
ing for his removal from the ofQce of District At- 
torney, said petition stating that ‘‘by reason of 
his neglect of duty the days of his usefulness havB 
passed.” 

In passing it may not be amiss to state that the 
present incumbent of the District Attorney’s oflSce 
is what the New York World so ably called “A 
Tragedy of American Politics.” Again : “No m a n 
of his generation ever had more brilliant opportu- 
nities. No man of his training and talents ever 
rendered a sorrier account of his stewardship. 

“Had Mr. Jerome kept Jaith with the people, had 
he redeemed his ple’dges, had he fulfilled his prom- 
ises, had he followed the trail of the great insur- 
ance and traction criminals, had he been the fear- 
less, single-minded prosecutor of lawbreakers that 


CITY PARK 


347 


he pretended to be, no office within the gift of the 
people of the United States would have lain beyond 
the possibility of his attainment. To-day, with the 
record of the last two years against him, there is 
no office to which he could be nominated and none 
to which he could be elected. 

^^But Mr. Jerome^s wasted political opportunities 
are a minor part of the tragedy. By the manner 
in which he has conducted his office he has given 
stability to the socialist charge that there is one 
kind of justice for the poor and another kind for 
the rich.’’ (Is there not?) ^^By his failure to keep 
his word he has discredited political independence 
and made it the more difficult for honest citizenship 
to fight against the Murphys and the McCarrens. 
He has set back the clock of political reform in 
New York, and for years to come every man of 
character, conscience and conviction who seeks to 
battle against political corruption must meet the 
sneer that H&s another JeromeP 

Against my will I went with Cyrus to the track. 
It was the day on which the $10,000 purse was to bq 
run for, and the excitement of the entire concourse 
of habitues was strung to its highest tension. 

From some tout my friend secured a ^^sure 
thing,” a twenty-to-one shot, I think it is called in 
racing parlance, borrowed twenty dollars from me, 
and with the fifteen of his own staked it on the 


t 


348 


SILENCE 


hazard. And as sometimes comes to pass when a 
beginner starts to woo blind Fate, he won |800, of 
which the informer received flOO as a gracious gift 
from my friend, whereupon he promised to return 
again with another “lead” secured from headquar- 
ters direct, wherever that may be, ere the races 
should be over. 

Leaving my friend, I mingled with the throngs, 
studying the different features of the excited bet- 
tors and their fleecers; and, when violently thrust 
to one side by a hurrying individual, and facing 
about to take him to task for his abrupt rudeness, 
I became conscious of the man’s identity as that of 
Wilburt Cassaway, Jr. 

In his hand he held a great wad of yellow-backed 
bills, and as the bookie asked the amount of the 
wager he shouted, “Five thousand on Eosebeam !” 

Such recklessness took my breath away, though 
the booky seemed not at all excited, merely handed 
the man a piece of paper, then busied himself with 
the other clamoring men who were surging around 
him like bees around a sugar-cone. 

Again the ringing cry of “They’re off!” perme- 
ated the air, wild shouts of rage and yelps of glee 
split the atmosphere in twain when the race was 
run, and, with a fearful oath, Wilburt Cassaway, 
Jr., threw his piece of paper on the ground and 


CITY PARK 


349 


made his way some distance up the grand stand, 
where I discerned the second Mrs. Cassaway. 

Perceiving the previous informer wildly gesticu- 
lating with my friend, I hurried to where the pair 
stood, and soon became aware of the case in point. 
He had received the “real” thing from the jockey 
who was his friend — every jockey appears to be the 
friend of every tout you meet — the odds were 10 
to 1 and a winner, the wrangling being caused by 
Cyrus objecting to the formation of a pool with his 
informer and so scoop an enormous profit. 

I had but |90 in my pockets, besides the |20 that 
Gyrus had returned, having cashed a check for the 
first named amount whilst we were waiting for a 
car on Canal and Camp streets ; so, after much per- 
suasion, I handed Cyrus $100, and with his $680 
and the tout’s $220, the entire $1,000 was placed 
on the die of chance. 

I saw the gambler’s light in his eyes as liS 
craned his neck and watched the fleeting number 
on the horse that was to win him his fortune. With 
beating pulses and throbbing heart he glued his 
eyes upon the three leading horses as they started 
for the homestretch. 

Again the wild shouts of jubilation and the 
smothered curses, the cashing of bets and muttered 
expletives from my friend, who mourned the loss of 


350 


SILENCE 


his money and threatened to drub the equally rag- 
ing tout. 

“There’s the Count !” I whispered to Cyrus as I 
discerned said individual worm his way' toward the 
younger Cassaway. 

“He’s no relative of mine!” came the caustic 
■rejoinder as he faced about and made his way to 
the clamoring crowd of excited bettors. 

“Three to one on Star-Girl! Three to one on 
Star-Girl!” shouted a red-headed, perspiring Jew, 
the rotundity of whose stomach rolled like a barrel 
at sea as he strained his nasal voice in proclaiming 
his wares, swaying from side to side in a frenzy of 
excitement and .avariciousness. 

The incessant roar of bookies and the babble of 
bettors was deafening. Surely there cannot be 
such a thing as scarcity of money in this country, 
otherwise the sea of legal tender that I saw must 
have been spurious. Hatfuls, handfuls and 
satchelfuls saw I wagered in the space of three 
minutes with this one son of Israel. 

A few paces away, spastic ejaculations from my 
Count from Hungary and Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., 
attracted my attention; and, wondering what the 
issue could be, I wormed my way within hearing 
distance, which means in this case that I had to 
come within striking distance, and then only 
caught half of their wild conversation. 


CITY PARK 


351 


^^The stake is |10,000!’’ I heard Wilburt shout to 
the Count. 

^^How much have you there?’’ 

^^Forty thousand dollars, Count.” 

I gasped in consternation at this amount. Could 
the man really be insane enough to wager this 
enormous amount at one throw of blind Fate ! 

''And CaulifE will put in |10,000?” 

"Yes, Count. And don’t forget that this is a 
sure thing. The owner gave me the inside informa- 
tion, also |5,000 to place in the pool. The jockey 
and stableman have each $1,000 down. And if you 
will come in on this — the odds are five to one — 
you’ll make a good sized fortune. You won $9,000 
just a few minutes ago on the result of the last 
race, so you will be called upon to place but two- 
thirds of the needed amount from your bank ac- 
count.” 

"Here,” drawing a huge wallat from his inside 
€oat pocket, "take this $30,000, and let us hope that 
Fate is not against us.” 

I was stunned. Eighty-seven thousand dollars 
to be wagered on the pendulum of Chance! Four 
hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars to be won 
in less than ten minutes if a poor beast should out- 
run its other racing brothers and sisters ! 

"Here’s the check !” holding up a piece of pafier 
to the Count. 


352 


SILENCE 


“I am somewkat anxious, Mr. Cassaway.” 

“Then what am I? All my wife’s money is at 
stake. I myself have lost over |250,000 at this in- 
fernal track since the first of the year, and I’m 
about as near broke as a man can be and not 
starve. But w'e’ll win. Count, we can’t lose. Have 
we not $5,000 from the owner as a guarantee of his 
good faith?” 

“I am optimistic, friend, and love to tempt dame 
Fate. I have lost in one hour at Monte Carlo more 
money than you have at this track since your com- 
ing South. What good is money if you do not cir- 
culate it?” 

The betting books were closed, the eyes of thou- 
sands were fixed upon the starter, the cry of 
“They’re off!” sounded its music again and the 
race for the track’s greatest stake was on in full. 

“Watch Mountain-Boy!” cried Wilburt to the 
staring Count. “His number is twelve. See how 
he’s forging ahead!” 

I looked and noted that the two horses in the 
lead were Star-Girl and Cassaway’s “sure” thing. 
Would the horse win? Would my lifelong enemy 
leave the track with the almost fabulous sum of 
$435,000, the result of one wunning? 

On came the horses, neck and neck, fighting with 
superb strength for a head, a neck, or more, theis 
masters in the person of a jockey perched high on 


CITY PARK 


353 


their mount’s w'ithers, coaxing, entreating and 
scolding as the goal came nearer and nearer. 

“Star-Girl! Star-Girl! Star-Girl!” shouted a 
thousand voices in one breath. 

“Mountain-Boj ! Mountain-Boy ! Mountain- 
Boy!” shrieked groups of men in a frenzy of ex- 
citement, their hats in the air, like a group of ne- 
groes getting religion at a Methodist revival meet- 
ing. 

“Star-Girl will win!” 

“Mountain-Boy will win!” 

“Cyclone’s forging ahead !” 

He was picked to win by those who understood 
the secrets of horse racing. 

“Cyclone! Cyclone! Cyclone!” from his frantic 
constituents. 

“Come on Mountain-Boy !” 

“Come on Star-Girl!” 

The babble was ear-splitting. Five thousand 
mouths at one time calling to their favorites rav- 
aged the air like the mighty roar of an artillery 
duel. 

“I played first place for our horse. Count, and 
we’ll win !” 

And so it appeared to me as I fixed my eyes 
upon the three lithe racing machines in horseflesh 
as they were but a hundred yards from the judges’ 
stand. Mountain-Boy having the inside rail, Star- 


354 


SILENCE 


Girl next, and a full neck behind, and the favorite 
Cyclone the outside, nip and tuck with Cassaway’s 
choice. 

“Mountain-Boy wins!” went up the voices of a 
thousand men in a deafening roar. 

“Count, Count, our pool’s won |435,000 !” 

“Cyclone wins'!” 

“Sacramento !” and the Count brushed me to one 
side as he leaped into the air and glared at the 
judges’ stand, where the announcement of the win- 
ner is shown on a blackboard in white letters. 

“Cyclone wins! Cash your checks!” from the 
bookies. 

And then pandemonium broke loose. The $10,- 
000 purse had been won by a new horse and made 
history in the annals of turfdom. The Count had 
lost $30,000, less the $9,000 previously won, and 
young Cassaway the huge sum of $40,000, to which 
his wife contributed her entire bank account. 

And the cries of rage and despair, punctured 
with vile oaths, sickened my heart and soul at the 
utter depravity of some men and women. 

Eighteen hundred dollars had been lost by a 
young widow, the money which should have settled 
a mortgage on her home that housed her fatherless 
children, at least so I learned from her semi-hyster- 
ical conversation with another beautiful woman 
but a few feet from where I stood. 


CITY PARK 


355 


^^Look here, Cauliff, I want to sell my automo- 
bile for |5,000. I paid |8,000 for it but eight weeks 
ago.’’ 

‘^You will do nothing of the kind, sir. The ma- 
chine in question is my personal property.” 

The man Cauliff looked what he was. A profes- 
sional race-track gambler, sporting a huge diamond 
in his shirt-bosom, three on his fingers, a heavy fob 
inlaid with diamonds and forming a horse-shoe and 
whip, and wearing an extraordinary loud vest of 
bright red. 

“1 am going to sell the automobile just the 
same,” savagely from Wilburt, as the trio stopped 
but a few feet from where I stood. 

^^Are you broke, Cassaway?” 

^^Nearer than I ever expected to be. I disposed of 
my 100,000 acres of timber land in the Carolinas 
several weeks ago and dropped it with those infer- 
nal bookies. I’m broke, Cauliff, and must sell the 
automobile. You know, Janice, that I paid for it 
with my own money.” 

do not care. It was a birthday gift to me, 
and I do not want to part with it.” 

^^However, I’m going to dispose of it. Will you 
buy it, Cauliff, at the figure mentioned?” 

^^Yes, provided your wife will consent.” 

Janice!” 

^^I will not.” 


356 


SILENCE 


“I’ll sell it anyway. If Cauliff doesn’t buy ic 
then somebody else will. Sold it must be, and that 
before night.” 

“I’ll take it. Where’s the machine?” 

“Over there.” 

“Here’s the money,” counting out five one thou- 
sand dollar notes. “Give me a receipt for it, Cas.” 

The receipt was written out, he handed it to the 
gambler, stuck the $5,000 in his wallet and pro- 
ceeded to direct the purchaser to his new acquisi- 
tion. 

That Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., should have lost his 
entire fortune in the space of two months surprised 
me not, after what I had witnessed at City Park 
to-day. Croesus himself would have been a pauper 
in ninety days at such furious gambling. Just as 
he had carried his appetite of concupiscence to ex- 
cess, so had he this sudden craze of insane reck- 
lessness at the race-track, always dragging the 
woman down w'ith him, deaf to the voice of Con- 
science and blind to the irrescindable issue gleaned 
by race-track gamblers, touts and hangers-on. 

I felt depressed on account of this knowledge of 
the man’s present financial loss. Just what would 
be the outcome of his desperate escapade I did not 
know. Yet I could have prevised almost to a cer- 
tainty, knowing his peculiar idiosyncracies and ex- 
travagant propensities of the woman who was his 
wife. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE PLOT THICKENS. 

The races at City Park were over, the season 
closed, the hordes of strangers had gone their way, 
save about three hundred Easterners, who were 
stranded in the city on account of their patriotism 
to the race-track, and were destined to become a 
public charge of the city fathers and the haunts of 
charity. 

Individualism and characteristics became more 
noticeable in the permanent citizens, hotel and 
rooming rates returned by degrees to the normal 
standard, and business on Canal street dying off at 
a most prodigious rate. I honestly believe that if 
the Legislature should abolish the races that the 
town would go bankrupt in less than twelve 
months, that the six millions of dollars of Eastern 
capital invested in the New Denechaud, New Gruen- 
wald, Audubon (Building), and two other new ho- 
tels in course of erection would have to go into the 
hands of a receiver and close their doors, for they 

857 


358 


SILENCE 


■would not do enough business to pay the interest 
on the interest, much less the principal. It is not 
so many years ago that the St. Charles Hotel, then 
the finest in the city, used to discharge all its help 
and close up shop for six months immediately fol- 
lowing the closing of the racing season. Even is 
this so of the Whitney Foundry and other enter- 
prises. Skilled mechanics brought to town from 
the East and Y*^est are treated like dogs by the “na- 
tive sons,” who strenuously object to the advent of 
a foreigner in the factories, foundries, etc. In the 
Whitney Foundry, for instance, an internal war 
has been going on for nearly two years because not 
enough “native sons” were proficient to fill the va- 
cant benches. Tools are stolen from the foreign 
“interlopers” broug^it from Chicago, New York 
and Pittsburg, assaults upon them are of frequent 
occurrence, as are threats of violence against the 
owners and proprietors. 

There is a city ordinance calling for seats for the 
women clerks in the department stores; yet, with 
but one exception, and that Kauffman’s, this law is 
ignored. 

And the heat from May to October is intense. 
Cyrus and I were on our way to inspect the Jewish 
emporium house, Maison-Blanc, and a gentile es- 
tablishment called D. H. Holmes & Company, for 
the purpose of seeing whether seats were provided 


THE PLOT THICKEN 8 


359 


for the salesladies, and were nearly overcome with 
the glaring heat. 

“Look here, Et’,” halting me in front of the 
Henry Clay statue in a square bounded by Camp 
and St. Charles, Girard and Poydras. “I can’t 
stand this terrible heat any longer, and I may as 
•well be a man and confess the truth : I am not in- 
terested in the problem of forcing these Jew houses 
to furnish seats to their lady clerks. I’ve enough 
troubles of my own without shouldering other peo- 
ple’s. It is hot enough on the street without going 
into those stuffy ovens where the heat reminds one 
of Old Nick’s quarters,” and he sprawled himself 
on the grass under a tree, lighted his pipe and be- 
gan to enjoy himself as best he could, whilst I con- 
tinued to my destination in the broiling sun, saw 
■w'hat I anticipated, and hurried back to the shady 
nook of my friend. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, Et’?” laughing at me 
through puffs of pungent tobacco smoke. 

“Immensely,” lied I, as I drew a weed from my 
case and lighted it. 

“Did the managers crack a bottle of champagne 
with you?” 

“No. I saw your friend the Connt from Hun- 
gary in Holmes’ buying several yards of a very fine 
silk for a lady’s dress.” 

“Umph !” 


360 


SILENCE 


“I wonder who it is for?” 

“I feel like painting this morning, so let us re- 
turn. I expect to finish it in another month or so,” 
^'hereupon we rose and hastened home, Cyrus to 
paint and I to read aloud to the charming Coun- 
tess. 

Though the heat in the day is fearful, the nights 
are cool and would be most delightful were it not 
for the hordes of abominable mosquitoes. 

From my past experience I am constrained to 
admit that New Orleans has without preamble or 
peradventure the best street car system in the 
world, and puts to shame in more ways than one 
the antiquated horse cars in New York, and the 
Philadelphia Rapid Transit Co.’s graft of charging 
three cents for every needed transfer. 

As in ancient times all roads led to Rome, so 
here, by a strange coincidence or design, all cars 
converge with Canal. The system is perfect, and Is 
run with the precision of clock-work. If you wish 
to go to Audubon Park, take a car on Canal. If 
you wish to go to City Park, West End, Metairie 
Cemetery, or any other point of interest, Canal 
street is the place where you wait for your car. 

The concerts at West End were very good, the 
park itself is very beautiful, and would be more 
patronized by the better element were it not that it 
is the rendezvous for the garlic-eating Gascons. 


THE PLOT THICKENS 


361 


Trips to Lake Pontchartrain, Tangipahoa River, 
Hains Falls and side trips to such historic places as 
Joe Jefferson’s home, the Allen Plantation at La- 
fourch Parish, the Arcadian structure of Eugene 
Vumez of St. John’s Parish, the Belle Alliance 
Plantation of Ascension Parish, ^^Madewood,” late 
home of Col. W. W. Pugh, the ruins of the home 
of ^^Fighting Governor” Allen, and St. Mary Parish 
delighted us immensely; and the moonlight excur- 
sions on the Mississippi were a constant joy to the 
Countess. 

And I had but just decided that the remainder of 
our stay would be an uninterrupted continuation 
of the present, when an incident occurred that 
threw a new shadow over our respective horizons. 
Of course it was a woman. Did you ever hear of 
any trouble, tragedy or even comedy that lacked a 
member of the gentler sex? 

It was at West End, where a handsome, dark- 
skinned woman became acquainted with Cyrus 
through the medium of an accident. Informal in- 
troductions and acquaintances are the order of 
things in New Orleans. He was seated with my- 
self at a small round table immediately in back of 
a woman dressed in the height of fashion, drinking 
claret wine. The band was playing that delightful 
march, ^^The Jolly Copper Smith,” now murdered 
by every phonograph in existence; and I was just 


362 


SILENCE 


in the act of lifting my glass of ale to my lips when 
a bungling negro waiter, emulating the tactics of 
a Japanese juggler with his tray of viands, bumped 
against Cyrus as the latter had his glass raised to 
his lips, and spilled the entire contents of the tray 
upon my friend, who, in the excitement of the in- 
cident, hastily sat his glass on the table and leaped 
to his feet with the evident intention of thrashing 
the negro. However, fate frustrated his design, 
in leaping to his feet he overset the table, with the 
aggravating result that the entire contents of his 
claret wine soused the woman’s beautiful cream- 
colored silk skirt and waist and even the tips of 
her white shoes. 

And in the excitement the waiter made good his 
escape. Brushing the lemonade and a dozen dif- 
ferent concoctions from his eyes and face, Cyrus 
approached the dark, mortified beauty, and apolo- 
gized. 

“Believe me. Miss, it was an unavoidable acci- 
dent. And I have spoiled this exquisite creation of 
the modiste’s art!” apologetically, as he surveyed 
the red-stained skirt and waist. “If you do not 
object. Miss, I will call a carriage and see you 
home. Esplanade? Oh, yes, I know where it is,” 
I heard him say, as he passed down the aisle and 
disappeared with the woman, leaving me to return 
to town alone or remain, as I should elect. 


THE PLOT THICKENS 


363 


For about two weeks, then, he would leave the 
Countess and myself to go whither we would, 
whilst he would hasten to a certain number on 
Esplanade Street, where lived his new infatuation. 

Men are most tickle, like a sunbeam In May or a 
butterfly on its wings of gold. Constancy like that 
of a woman knows them not. Every new face, 
figure or ankle has a potent charm for the mascm 
line heart, and usurps in his soul the idol of 
his one time affection. And Cyrus, not being a 
paragon of virtue, was no exception to the general 
rule of his most volatile sex, though he tried to hide 
his secret from me with lies and quibbles. 

He was painting this day, giving his picture the 
finishing touches, when the storm broke loose by 
the Countess saying : 

thought, Cyrus, that you admired blonde 
women,’^ eyeing him narrowly as she spoke. 

^^So I do. Have I not reproduced the most per- 
fect blonde woman in existence, a real blonde, with 
glassing hair of gold and eyes like opal seas?’’ 

^^You flatterer.” 

^^And you’re the image of my Destiny, girly,” 
rising and kissing her trembling lips. 

^^Did you kiss that dark beauty last night, Cy- 
rus?” 

''Who?” 

"That buxum woman in green.” 


364 


SILENCE 


“Where did you see her?” frowning slightly. 

“Corner Canal and Carondelet, where the both 
of you boarded a car for West End.” 

^‘What were you doing there? Spying on my 
movements?” 

“No, sir. I came there by chance and not de* 
sign. 

“The woman is a lady.” 

“I doubt it not.” 

“And comes from a respectable family.” 

“Which is not questioned.” 

“Your inference, though, is that I have been 
caught at what a gentleman ought not to do.” 

“I infer nothing. I saw you kiss her several 
times, and asked the reason why. Do you expect 
me to allow every female that walks the streets to 
ply you with their filthy osculations?” 

“Woman !” 

“Man! beware, for you know not the lambent 
fire within my soul. I’d hesitate not a moment in 
throwing a glass of vitriol in her face if the provo- 
t?ation presented itself.” 

“You misjudge me, dear.” 

*‘We will leave this abominable nest just as soon 
as your picture is completed. How long before it 
is ready for shipment to New York?” 

“About two njore Aveeks.” 

“Then put some electricity in your fingers and 


TEE PLOT THICKENS 


365 


rush the work, for I am all eagerness to shake the 
dust of this infernal town from my feet and return 
East,” and with a regal toss of her proud head she 
left the room and closed the door. 

“Ef, what is wrong with the little girl?” 

“You heard what she accused you of, did you 
not?” 

“Yes. And the worst of it is that I cannot de- 
fend myself. I did kiss the woman in question, 
though how this act of osculation became apparent 
to the Countess is beyond me. Do you think that 
she can read one’s soul?” 

“Has she not informed us that she is quite a 
medium, that she can go into a trance and see 
what is taking place at a distance with those she 
holds in esteem?” 

“I do not believe it.” 

“I do.” 

He became morose and silent, working with ill- 
will for a few minutes, then gave up the task in 
despair. 

“Have you nothing to say to me, your friend, 
Cyrus, relative to this dark-skinned beauty whom 
you have favored with so much attention of late?” 

“Not much, save that I believe that I love her, 
that I have asked her to marry me, and ” 

“What !” 

“And that is all, save that the lady has given me 


366 


SILENCE 


no decided answer as yet.” 

“Are you crazy, man?” 

“Tear out my heart if you do not want me to fall 
prey to the seductive charm of woman.” 

“And what about the beautiful woman in there?” 
pointing to the sacred suite. 

“To all intents and purposes I am her lover, Et’, 
and yet, and yet I’m but a simpleton.” 

^‘What do you mean? Explain yourself.” 

“You goad me to desperation with your insane 
queries. Am I, then, a stick, a stone, devoid of all 
physical attributes of a healthy man? My very 
soul is on fire with the constant denial of the appe- 
tite of denied concupiscence, driving me to a mad- 
ness worse than death. Am I expected to sit before 
this bundle of female beauty, feast my eyes upon 
her physical charms and simply dream of what 
might be mine but is not? I have asked her to mar- 
ry me and been laughed at; I have beseeched her 
on my knees to be my common-law wife and been 
spurned. Nothing is granted me save a daily kiss, 
and they but fire my revolting soul to added heat 
and fury.” 

“What excuse was made you when your offer of 
marriage was rejected?” 

“A woman’s excuse.” 

“MTiich is?” 

“Because.” 


THE PLOT THICKENS 


367 


‘'Come, now, what was the lady’s excuse?” 

“That I should school myself in patience and 
see whether I really was in love and wanted her for 
my wife.” 

“Logical advice, friend Cyrus.” 

With something akin to the devil’s prayer he 
slammed the door to and disappeared, probably to 
take a long constitutional and clear the passion 
from his jumbled senses, whilst I, seated in a com- 
fortable rocker, drew forth my bachelor friend, 
lighted it and dozed in a semi-conscious manner 
until the sun was high up in the heavens. 

“Here’s a message, Mr. Everett, from our mutual 
friend, Mr. Cassaway, Sr., asking that you, Cyrus, 
and I call at his suite at 2 p. M.” 

“Why?” 

“I do not know. He says, though, that it is im- 
perative.” 

“Then we had better keep the appointment,” said 
I, as I rose to prepare for the interview. 

“Where is Cyrus?” 

“He left about an hour ago for a constitutional.” 

“I hope he does not keep us waiting,” wherewith 
she departed to make her toilet. 

I was dressed for nearly half an hour when Cyrus 
entered in a happy mood, again his buoyant self. 

“Wa are invited to the New Denechaud Hotel, 


368 


SILENCE 


Cyrus,” said I, in way of an explanation for my 
street costume. 

“Invited?” 

“Yes.” 

“By whom?” 

“Our mutual friend, Cassaway, the elder.” 

“Why?” 

“I have not the slightest idea.” 

“Are you ready, Cyrus, dear?” asked my Coun* 
tess, as she entered in a bewitching lavender dress 
of silk. 

“Yes,” and then he surveyed the exquisite dress " 
for a moment. “When did you acquire this gor- 
geous costume, dear?” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Yes. And it sets most beautifully.” 

“Come now, for the time set for our reception is 
close at hand.” 

“ Is this the goods, Et’, that you saw the Count 
purchase at Holmes’ the other day?” 

“No, you simpleton ! He bought a brown silk.” 

Whether it was brown or not I could not say. 
However, my spontaneous answer appeared to 
allay the equally spontaneous suspicion of my 
friend’s mind, for he chattered gayly as we waited 
on the corner for a car to take us to our destination. 

I, of course, had not the slightest idea as to why 
the three of us were wanted on imperative business, 


THE PLOT THICKENS 


369 


for tlie lawyer who had gone to Key West, Florida, 
had reported that there was no tangible flaw in the 
divorce proceedings and subsequent marriage of the 
former wife of Cyrus and Wilburt Cassaway the 
younger. 

Entering the elabroate suite we were robbed of 
our speech for several moments at the sight be- 
fore us. Seated in a large rocker was Mrs. Florence 
Cassaway, holding in her lap a beautiful pink baby 
girl ; off toward the east corner of the room, near the 
window, sat the present wife of Wilburt Cassaway, 
Jr., weeping; and in the middle of the floor stood 
the aged father of Wilburt. 

Come right up, friends, and congratulate my 
little girl and her baby.’’ 

Cyrus closed the door, and was the first to ex- 
tend his felicitations to the young mother. 

Is is not sw^eet, Cyrus?” and the Ccmntess took 
it in her arms and smothered it with kisses. 

Heavens, Et’, there’s my former wife !” he ejac- 
ulated to me in a startled undertone. 

Cyrus !” and the woman rose to her feet and 
started toward him. ^^Oh Cyrus, Cyrus!” and she 
burst into a violent fit of sobbing. 

Stop !” and the Countess stayed him as he was 
about to rush to the swaying woman in black. 

The woman is my wife.” 

And drove you to the brink of insane murder !’^ 


370 


SILENCE 


“Eemain where you are, Cyrus!” 

“ Cyrus, have pity ! Oh !” and she fell into the 
nearest chair and sobbed hysterically. 

“ Eelease me, Bangs !” glaring at me with danc- 
ing eyes of madness. 

“ There’ll be time enough for a reconciliation, 
Cyrns. Florence, take the babe in the next room 
and return. And, boy, please remain where you 
are until I give you leave to act as you may elect.” 

“ I’ll do as I please. I am my own master, sir, 
and owe. ...” 

The door flew open and there entered, to the 
astonishment of all, an officer handcuffed to Wil- 
burt Cassaway, Jr. 

“ Oh !” and Florence Cassaway screened her face 
with her hands as she stood in the threshold, trem- 
bling with fear at the unexpected sight of the father 
of her babe in the toils of the Law. 

“ Close the door. Bangs !” 

“ What means this outrage upon my inalienable 
liberty? Eelease me, you scoundrel!” glaring at 
the officer with murderous eyes. 

“ Mr. Wilburt Cassaway, Jr., do you recognize 
the signature on this check?” holding to his eyes a 
yellow piece of paper. 

“No, sir.” 

“What!” 

“ I never saw the writing before.” 


THE PLOT THICKENS 


371 


^^You lie! It is a forgery in your handwriting, 
imitating my chirography on this check calling for 
ten thousand dollars. You villain!’’ 

Let me see the check, please?” 

When it was handed to the second Mrs. Cassa- 
way, she examined it long and earnestly, then re- 
turned it to the elder man and turned upon her cap- 
tive husband with a vehement outburst of abuse. 

You forged the signature of your father to this 
check. You squandered my last cent at the race- 
track and left me on the point of starvation at the 
Gray Gables with |1,000 worth of debts hanging 
over my head. You sold my automobile so as to 
bestow jewelry and other gifts on the women of the 
slums. You have robbed me of my wonted respect, 
anade of me a divorcee, an outcast and a pauper. 
Brute ! I should like to see you hang by the neck 
for your dastardly crimes. You lured me from a 
benevolent husband, squandered my fortune and 
left me to the mercy of Charity. You, the like of 
you, a gambler and a forger, are the father of the 
child to come ! Oh, the disgrace, the heinous 
crime !” 

I deny the allegations made.” 

Deny this, then, you scoundrel,” and the Count- 
ess held before him the laughing babe in her arms. 

Whose child is this, Wilburt?” 

Not mi ” 


372 


SILENCE 


“ Whose?” and I thought that the irate man 
would bore his son’s eyes out with the barrel of his 
jiistol as he poked it into the trapped man’s face. 

“ Mine, sir.” 

“ Does it look like you?” 

“It does.” 

“ And you got your divorce on the grounds of 
infidelity?” 

“ Damn you !” 

“ Say that again and I will break every bone in 
your accursed body, you scoundrel. You stole the 
love and affection of your friend’s wife, drove him 
to murder, outraged the fair name of your own wife, 
eloped beyond the jurisdiction of the New York 
courts, secured a divorce, married the woman 
Avhom you disgraced, squandered your fortune at 
the Race-Track, together with that of your wife’s, 
and then, to cap the climax, forged my signature to 
a check for |10,000. Do you know what I propose 
to do with you?” 

“No. Neither do I care.” 

“I will make you by prosecuting you to the full 
extent of the law. And remember, southern peni- 
tentiaries are not like those of the East. A ball 
and chain will be attached to you, your hair will 
be shaved, like that of a baboon’s, stripes will 
adorn you, and yt>u will dig in the mines, a con- 
vict for ten or more years.” 


THE PLOT THICKENS 


373 


^^You will suffer as much as I will by the trans- 
action. The New York dailies antagonistic to your 
sheet will pounce upon the news and spread it 
broadcast.’’ 

care not. It could not damage me any more 
than your villainous escapades in New York, and 
your filing of papers for an absolute divorce did, 
naming an innocent man as co-respondent. Is this 
the result of your training, of the father-love lav- 
ished upon you without stint? Shame, Wilbiirt, 
shame !” 

^‘You drive me mad. What care I for the past. 
Is it not beyond recovery? Have I not sundered 
the ties that bound me to you?” 

^^And to the mother of your child ?’^ 

^Wes. I have steeped my soul in the cup of de- 
bauchery and the hell of the race-track, and, like 
every other gambler, ended with forgery.” 

^^So you have ceased denying your signature on 
this check?” 

^^Yes. The evidence against me is too overpower- 
ing. And, as life holds nothing for me save dis- 
grace, I much prefer to end my days in a peniten- 
tiary.” 

^^Officer, release my son for the time being. I 
will be responsible for him while he is in this 
room.” 

The handcuffs were unlocked, Wilburt stepped 


374 


SILENCE 


a few feet toward the centre of the room, and the 
officer toward the door. 

“Kindly await further orders in the corridor 
without.” 

“Janice!” from Cyrus as the officer departed, 
“Janice, my ” 

“One moment, boy,” restraining Cyrus by hold- 
ing him back by the shoulder. “I am expecting a 
new actor at almost any moment, so till then, have 
patience, boy,” and he forced Cyrus into a seat 
whilst the rest remained standing, wondering who 
the new arrival could possibly be. 


CHAPTEE XXV. 


THE THUNDERBOLT. 

The pall of mystery so suddenly thrust upon 
each individual, brewed thoughts of fear in each 
and every heart, save the elder Cassaway’s. As far 
as I could see a new actor was out of place in this 
domestic tragedy. I thought of the gambler Cau- 
liff, tried to figure him as a possibility in the ex- 
pected role of the announced actor, yet, try as I 
would, the man was out of place. 

And the elder Cassaway, with watch in hand, 
counting the minutes that appeared an eternity in 
passing, revealed neither by mien nor sign the 
identity of the expected arrival. 

“Devil take it!” apostrophized my friend in an 
undertone to me, “who can he be expecting?” 

“I cannot imagine, Cyrus.” 

“Blamed mystery, this entire procedure!” 

I thought so, too, yet refrained from answering 
as I reviewed in my mind’s eye the fearful past 
since last August. In all the terrible ordeals en- 

376 


376 


SILENCE 


acted by the different actors I perceived young 
Cassaway as the fundamental cause. He was the 
pivotal point round which the different scenes had 
rotated, and it appeared that he was chosen by Fate 
to be the centrifugal force governing the climax 
of this long-drawn out domestic warfare. 

'^Good evening, Mr. Cassaway!’’ and the Coun^ 
\Oii totratskyi in his wontt^d faultless attire en- 
tered, silk hat, cane and gloves in one hand, as he 
started toward the elder man, then, strange as it 
might appear, halted spasmodically and surveyed 
the face and figure of Miss Silence standing in 
the threshold leading to the other apartment. 

Virginia!” dropping his hat, cane and gloves 
in consternation. 

She gave no response, merely turned her face 
away from him and looked toward the window, 
unresponsive to the appeal in the man’s eyes as 
he stood in a tremor of unalloyed excitement. 

^^Mr. Cassaway, why insult me with the presence 
of this profligate?” 

^^Pardon me, friend, but I think that you are a 
little too severe, both with me and your husband,” 
smiling slightly as he picked up the Count’s para- 
phernalia and deposited them on the table. 

''Virginia, dear,” going toward her with open 
arms. 

"How dare you address me, you villain?” 


THE THUNDERBOLT 377 

^^For the Lord’s sake, EF, what’s the meaning 
of this new scene?” 

am at sea,” and I was, too, and that so deeply 
that I simply stood there gasping like a veritable 
idiot at this new actor’s mien, the bellicose woman 
glaring at him as if she thirsted for his life’s 
blood. 

have sought you for a year, dear.” 

^^Dear? You brute! I was never such to you 
save when you needed more ready cash to satisfy 
your thirst for vice and crime.” 

^^Mr. Cassaway, cannot you make her understand 
what I have failed to do?” 

^^You must fight your own battles. Count.” 

^^Why do you not help your friend in his trying 
ordeal, his struggle for a reconciliation, Wilburt? 
You both hobnobbed it at the race-track,” and I 
perceived the look of satisfaction light the woman’s 
face at this subtle thrust at her felon husband. 

^^He spent his own money!” and Wilburt bit his 
lip in shame and anger. 

^^And mine, too.” 

^Wou lie, woman!” 

^^Eemember in whose presence you are, son.” 

spent nobody’s money, madame.” 

^Wou ran through mine just the same, you rake!” 

Virginia, how can you be so cruel to me, dear?” 

^^You helped my husband to form a pool at the 


378 mLEUCE 

race-track and lose my money. Count. Why 
deny it?” 

“Your husband?” 

“Yes.” 

“Madame must be mistaken. On my honor as a 
gentleman, I do not know you nor your husband.” 

“Count, you barefaced scoundrel, how dare you 
call my wife a liar?” 

“And who are you, sir?” haughtily, as he sur- 
veyed the bristling man before him. 

“Do you mean to throw me down, to deny your . 
past friendship with me and my wife?” 

“Mr. Cassaway,” turning toward the elder man, 
“cannot you rectify this man’s error?” 

“If you weren’t in the presence of these ladies. 
Count, I’d thrash you within an inch of your 
worthless life.” 

“You plebeian! How dare you, a stranger, in- 
sult a nobleman?” 

“A nobleman? Ye gods! The like of you a 
member of real aristocracy? Heavens!” laughing 
raucously into the Count’s face. 

“This is an uni>ardonable insult, one that I will 
not forget in great haste, Mr. Cassaway,” grab- 
bing his hat, cane and gloves and making his way 
toward the door. 

“What did you come for. Count? To appease 
the wrath of the gods, your wife, and fasten your 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


379 


long, bony fingers on the remnants of her dowry 
asked Cyrus, eyes glowing with hatred as he 
approached the raging nobleman. 

‘^You pig!” and with a thunderous crescendo, 
the oath that parted his spastic lips rang through 
the room like the report of a gun, followed by the 
Count^s exit and the slamming of the door after 
him, leaving us all in a momentary stupor. 

^^Ha! Ha! Ha!” and the elder Cassaway sprawled 
himself in the nearest chair and split his fat sides 
with shouts of laughter, to the amazement of his 
son and the rest of the spectators. 

^^Well, I’ll be hanged !” and Cyrus seated himself 
and stared at the still laughing man before him. 

‘‘1 fail to see an apparent reason for your 
boisterous laughter, sir. Neither can I understand 
why you should have invited my former husband 
to meet me here with the intention of insulting me 
with his hypocritical words of endearment.” 

^^My dear young friend ” 

can neither be dear to you nor a friend, Mr^ 
Cassaway. If I were such, you would not delight 
in thus insulting me.” 

^^Come in!” called I in response to a sudden 
knock, and in another moment the Count entered, 
somewhat bashful, to be sure, as he stopped 
abruptly the moment he espied Cyrus and the 
elder Cassaway. 


380 


SILENCE 


“What do you want?” asked Cyrus as he sprang 
to his feet. 

“Sir!” 

“I’ll wring your countly neck if you look at me 
with such contempt.” 

“Count, you villain!” and the younger Cassa- 
way approached him in wrath. “What do you 
mean by denying your relationship with me and 
my wife?” 

“I deny our friendship? God forbid!” 

“Stop it!” 

“Are you sober, friend?” 

“Who are you?” clutching him by the collar. 

“Your friend, the Count Stratskyi.” 

“And I?” 

“Wilburt Cassaway of New York and New 
Orleans.” 

“And the woman in lavender?” 

“My wife.” 

“And the woman in black?” 

“Your wife.” 

“And this man?” 

“Your father. But, why ask me such ridiculous 
questions? And do release my collar, please.” 

“You made me out a liar but a few minutes 
ago,” releasing the Count. 

“You must be mistaken, sir.” 

“Not only that, but you denied all knowledge 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


381 


of our association at the race-track where we 
formed a pool and lost |87,000. Deny this again 
and I will break your royal bones.” 

“I do not deny it, friend.” 

“You are a degenerate offspring of royalty, 
Count, and lack all semblance of manhood. Have 
I not given you to understand by signs and words 
that you are most repulsive to me?” 

“To the sorrow of my soul, yes.” 

“Then why did you address me with words of 
endearment but a few minutes ago?” 

“You, madame?” 

“Yes, I,” stepping toward him in rage. “I detest 
you beyond the expression of words.” 

“My dear Virginia ” 

“Cut out your words of endearment if you care 
to leave this room with a whole skin.” 

“Mr. Cassaway, you sent for me, and why? To 
be insulted by each of your guests here?” 

“You are a man. Count, and well able to protect 
yourself. Just what your motive may be in first 
denying acquaintanceship with my son and what 
took place between you two at the race-track at 
City Park I do not know. Some ulterior motive 
prompted you to lie. Why?” 

“I did not.” 

“You did, sir.” 

“Why continue to insult me in your apart- 


382 


SILENCE 


ments?” 

“Why lie with given intent?” 

“Virginia” facing about, “did I deny my ac- 
quaintance with the younger Cassaway?” 

“You did.” 

Baffled with impotent rage he spun around on 
his high Cuban heels and addressed me in a sibilant 
tone: 

“Mr. Bangs, may I rely upon your honor as a 
gentleman to speak the truth?” 

“You may.” 

“Have I lied in the presence of these ladies and 
gentlemen?” 

“Most maliciously.” 

“Sacremento !” and with a savage look in his 
eyes he left the room, banging the door after him. 

“Mr. Cassaway, the action of this crazy Count 
is getting beyond me. What motive have you in 
inviting him to this family gathering? Why are 
you convulsed with glee? I see nothing laughable 
in the disgraceful proceedings,” said Cyrus, as he 
arose. 

“What do you intend to do with me, father? I 
am prepared for the worst.” 

“Cyrus, boy, you are not angry, are you?” 

“I am,” whereupon he walked over to the 
Countess and began a whispered conversation 
with her. “ 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


383 


“Mr. Bangs, what do you make of this Count’s 
peculiar behavior?” 

“That he is drunk or on the verge of lunacy.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“I do.” 

“And you, Florence?” 

“I coincide with Mr. Everett Bangs.” 

“I don’t.” 

“What?” 

“No, Bangs.” 

“The man’s crazy as a March hare.” 

“Oh, no, he’s not.” 

“And why not?” 

“I have come to demand an apology from yon, 
Mr. Oassaway, and if it is not forthcoming I shall 
force you to a duel,” and the fiery Count stood 
himself immediately in front of the portly person 
of our host, face black with impotent fury. 

“Have I insulted you, Count?” rising slowly. 

“Ton have, sir, and that most egregiously.” 

“Then pray accept my humble apology.” 

“Good! Just why I have been used as a cat’s- 
paw by you and your guests is unknown to me.” 

“Just why you denied all knowledge of my son 
and the race-track, then retracted, is beyond me 
too. Count. It appears to me that yon possessed 
some sinister design in thus first denying and then 
retracting.” 


384 


SILENCE 


“I did not.” 

“How dare you throw the lie in my face?” 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cassaway.” 

“You villain! How dare you call my father a 
liar?” and Wilburt sprang toward the Count, face 
livid with carnal rage. 

“I do not call your father a liar, provided, of 
course, that this gentleman is your sire.” 

“By what right do you doubt my assertion?” 

“By your actions, sir. This man appears refined, 
despite the apparent insult meted me, whilst yoii 
show every ear-mark of a ribald bringing-up, 
coarse features and coarse of speech.” 

<‘You ” 

“Return to your seat, son !” thundered his father 
as he pushed the raging man away from the Count. 
“The man speaks the truth. You do not represent 
me in the least, neither in face, figure nor your 
mode of living.” 

“Who is that man talking to my wife, Mr. Cas- 
saway?” 

“And is she your wife?” 

“Most assuredly.” 

“You lie, villain! I divorced you as you are 
aware.” 

“Divorced me?” in horror, retreating as if struck 
with a blow. 

“You are so innocent, Count, that I am afraid 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


385 


you will sprout a pair of wings overnight and dis- 
appear from the haunts of living man.’’ 

He winced at this satirical shaft from the 
woman’s biting tongue, and looked helplessly from 
me to the giggling Cassaway the elder. 

^^This climate appears to impair one’s mind, 
judging from the evidence at hand.” 

^^We are all sane people, Count, have no fear.” 
doubt it, sir. My wife denies me, that man 
there who appears to be your offspring lies about 
me, though, up to a few minutes ago we had never 
met ; the woman in black, his wife, hurls her shaft 
of mendacity at me for no other palpable reason 
than to espouse the secret cause of the man you 
claim is your son. Why all this mystery, this 
subterfuge and unashamed rascality?” 

^^Count, if you again deny the truth I will have 
a warrant sworn out for your arrest on the charge 
of embezzlement.” 

^^Madame!” 

^^Do you still persist in denying the fact that 
you gambled away my fortune with the tacit 
understanding of my husband?” 

^‘1 deny it, madame.” 

^^And do you deny squandering my private for- 
tune within six months after our marriage?” 

‘‘1 do.” 

^^You infernal scoundrel!” and Cyrus sprang 


386 


SILENCE 


across the room to hurl himself at the retracting 
Count. 

“Bangs, jou meddler!” and he glared into my 
eyes with bestial heat as I gripped; him by the 
hands and held him fast. 

“I challenge you to a duel, sir,” and with his 
glove he slapped the senior Oassaway’s face, hur- 
ried to the door, jerked it open, then recoiled from 
an incoming person. 

“Sacremento !” he cursed as he sprang to his 
feet and smote the newcomer with his cane. 

“Great Caesars!” and Cyrus clung to me with 
hands that gripped my muscles like a pair of vises. 

“You !” 

“You !” 

“Mr. Cassaway, the scoundrel who did the 

lying,” said the Count as he approached the centre 
of the room. 

“Mr. Cassaway, the scoundrel who did the 

lying,” and Count number two approached his 
double, livid with rage. 

In all my life I have not been a spectator to 
such utter consternation as took place in the next 
moment. A stifled cry from Miss Silence, a reso- 
nant oath from Cyrus, and from the rest gasps 
of wonder and amazement, whilst the two trapped 
Counts, identical in dress, flgure, face and carriage, 
stood facing each other, like two savages at bay. 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


387 


awaiting a favored opportunity of assault. 

^^You villain!’’ 

^^You rogue !” 

^^Who is who?” and Mr. Cassaway stood himself 
between the two devil-possessed Counts, his blue 
eyes still twinkling with mischievous laughter as 
he surveyed the black faces before him. 

^^Adrian !” 

^^Adrian !” 

^^You villain! Your name is Adrian and mine 
is Gustave.” 

^^You whelp! Mine name is Gustave and yours 
is Adrian. Why lie about it in the presence of 
these ladies and gentlemen?” 

^^You renegade!” 

^^You reprobate!” and these strange men glared 
at each other with murder in their hearts and 
souls. 

^^We have heard enough superlative adjectives 
for the while, Counts. Mrs. Stratskyi, will you be 
so kind as to step up to these men and identify 
your husband, the man you married?” 

She did so, and studied both faces for several 
minutes; and, as a dark frown mantled her mouth 
I knew that she had failed in her identification. 

^^There are two Counts here.” 

'^Yes.” 

^^One of them you married.” 


388 


BILENCm 


“Yes.” 

“Which one?” 

“I do not know.” 

“What!” incredulously, eyeing her furtively as 
she again inspected the duplicates before her. 

“Are you Grustave?” 

“Yes.” 

“Adrian, you arch scoundrel! why call yourself 
Gustave when you are Adrian? Virginia, believe 
me, this brother of mine lies.” 

“Virginia, dear, you must recognize in your heart 
that I am your beloved husband.” 

“By the eternal heavens, I swear that I will kill 
you, Adrian, if you persist in this devilish imper-. 
sonation.” 

“And I will have you arrested for this masquera- 
ding under my inalienable title.” 

“Be seated. Counts, and let us endeavor to 
straighten out this herculean tangle,” whereupon 
all took seats and surrounded these remarkable 
doubles as our self-appointed inquisitor cleared 
his throat and began his strange catechising. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 
who’s who? 

my long career I have heard of twins, seen 
as many as fourscore ten from time to time, yet 
never have I seen the like of you two, who, for 
some strange reason, have carried your like- 
ness to such an extent as to affect each other’s 
dress, mannerisms, monocle, etc. What ulterior 
motive is there for this strange masquerading of 
the other’s personality? One of you must be an 
unmitigated scoundrel and a liar, and I expect to 
worm the truth from you or lodge you both in 
jail. You speak first,” tapping one of the men 
on the knee. 

^^Mr. Oassaway, may I speak unreservedly in 
the presence of these ladies?” 

^Vou may, so long as you refrain from shock- 
ing their modesty.” 

^^To begin with, we are twins, I being the first- 
born and he the second.” 

^Tt is not so.” 


389 


390 


SILENCE 


“Hold your tongue. You will be given a chance 
to defend yourself in due course of time. Pro- 
ceed I” 

“There has ever been such close resemblance 
between us that even our mother had great dif- 
ficulty in distinguishing us apart. Later, when 
we joined the army, I got court-martialed three 
times and finally was expelled on account of my 
brother’s wild escapades, and he found himself 
in jail on account of mine. We were both rather 
wild, as young noblemen are wont to be, having 
each a handsome income, about 75,000 francs a 
year. 

“It was during a barroom broil that my brother 
received an ugly injury to his head and became 
insane, was placed in an insane asylum, where 
he remained for nearly three years, until his es- 
cape four weeks after my marriage to my wife 
here. 

“Was I not a faithful husband to you during 
the first four weeks of our married life, Vir- 
ginia ?” 

“Yes. But four weeks is a very short time, 
Count.” 

“I grant it. Now listen: I left, as you, Vir- 
ginia, must remember, one sunny day to go to 
town and arrange a business transaction with my 
lawyer, was set upon by two strange men, drag- 


WHO’S WHO? 


391 


ged before a Judge, convicted as an escaped luna- 
tic, and carried off in posthaste to the asylum 
from which my brother had escaped, whilst he, 
(do not be shocked, ladies) returned to my castle 
and purloined the nuptial pleasures that were 
mine by virtue of my marriage. He having been 
adjudged insane, and being single, the entire resi- 
due of his fortune reverted to me, save such al- 
lowance as the Court had set aside for his main- 
tenance at the retreat for the incurably insane. 
And, when through the connivance of Fate I was 
forced to take his place, he began to squander 
my fortune and yours, Countess, shaming you 
with his disgraceful living, 

^^This past March a year ago I was declared 
sane by a court, returned to my castle and was de- 
nied admittance by the carekeeper. Even my 
lawyers refused to believe me at first, though I 
finally succeeded in convincing them of my broth- 
er’s rascality. I have hunted for you, Virginia, 
since the day of my release, wandering through 
Europe and, finally in Paris, I learned that you 
had left your husband and gone to America with 
the intention of securing a divorce, taking with 
you your child. Is this true, wife?” and I noted 
a genuine tear well in his gray eyes as he watched 
the fiame-lit face of her he had espoused. 


392 


SILENCE 


“Yes. I divorced my husband on account of 
his terrible cruelty.” 

“And yet I was most loving and tender to you, 
dear!” 

“That will do, Count. Now,” facing Count 
number two, “let us hear what you may have to 
say in defense of your honor, sir.” 

“Mr. Cassaway, believe me, and you, too, Vir- 
ginia. I most deeply regret that I am called 
upon to throw my brother’s lie into his face. It 
is as he so cunningly avers, that we are twins, 
that he was court-martialed for my wild escap- 
ades in the army and I arrested for his base 
mode of living. Six months languished I in a 
filthy prison because he had wronged a beautiful 
peasant maid; and, when finally released after 
paying a heavy fine to the state and an equally 
large emolument to the girl’s parents, I deter- 
mined to have a lunacy commission appointed to 
examine my brother as to his sanity. He was sub- 
sequently arrested, examined by the commission, 
adjudged insane with maniacal tendencies, and 
was incarcerated in an asylum for the criminal 
insane, where he remained until, as he jusl assev- 
erated, he was released by a commission that pro- 
nounced him harmless about a year ago. In the 
Interim I had taken a trip to America, visited 
Chicago, where I met Virginia here, married 


WHO’S WHO? 


393 


her, and returned to my native country. Our 
temperaments being so diametrically opposed to 
each other we separated after six months of mar- 
ried life, she returning to her parents in this 
country and I embarking on a constitutional that 
took me through Europe, visiting Budapest, Con- 
stantinople, London, Madrid, Paris, Venice, and 
Monte Carlo, where, at the last named, I lost con- 
siderable of my fortune. After a few years of 
wandering I tired of the utter frivolity of society, 
saT the error of my ways, returned to America 
witu the intention of seeking a reconciliation 
with my wife on account of the son that had been 
born us, and whom I had not seen. My wife’s 
parents having died, I experienced great diffi- 
culty in discovering her whereabouts. I em- 
ployed detectives to help me in my trouble, lo- 
cated my wife at Charleston, S. C., from whence 
she mysteriously disappeared, located her a sec- 
ond time at Newport News, Va., where, just as 
I had summoned my strength for the crucial mo- 
ment and sue for forgiveness, she again vanished 
and succeeded in eluding my every effort until a 
few weeks ago, when, through an accidental 
meeting with your son at the races, I learned of 
her presence in this city with a party of friends 
who are now listening to this strange recital of 
mine. 


394 


SILENCE 


brother Adrian, knowing of course the 
wild escapades of my youth, has profited by them 
in a most ingenious manner, fabricating there- 
with a tale of romance and of tragedy that ap- 
pears to bear the stamp of truth. However, now 
that you know both sides, you can readily see 
through his attempted subterfuge; at least you 
can, Virginia, can you not, dear? And, whilst I 
am at this humiliating confession may I not sue 
for pardon?’^ and he held his hand toward her, 
whilst two great, big tears rolled down his sor- 
row-streaked face. 

^^One of you two has lied. Who is the guilty 
party growled their inquisitor as he clenched 
his fists in wrath. 

have spoken the truth,’^ from the first 
speaker. 

^^Believe me, sir, I have not deviated an iota 
from the truth,’’ from the second speaker. 

^^Devil take you royal scamps! One of you is 
lying. Mrs. Stratskyi, can you, after having 
heard their confession, say with any show of cer- 
tainty which one is your husband?” 

^‘1 cannot. Each appears to be trading on the 
other’s knowledge.” 

^^Bangs, who’s who?” 

^Vou will have to call upon Solomon for the so- 
lution of this perplexing conundrum.” 


WHO’S WHO? 


395 


“I will call upon the police for the solving of 
this problem if you two persist in your decep- 
tion.” 

“Mendacity is beneath my dignity, sir.” 

“Prevarication never knew me as kin, sir.” 

“I believe that the both of you are villains.” 

“Sir!” 

“Sir!” 

“By heavens!” and he slammed his fist on his 
knee with vengeance. “Do both of you scala- 
wags take me for a fool? Are you trying to make 
a laughing stalk out of me and my friends?” 

“I assure you, monsieur ” 

“That’s my husband, Mr. Cassaway!” 

“Take that, villain!” and the two probably 
would have killed each other then and there had 
not Cyrus and Wilburt separated them. 

“This is my seat.” 

“This is my seat.” 

“You lie, Adrian.” 

“Adrian, you scoundrel!” 

“Be seated, you bloodthirsty villains! Now,” 
when the two combatants were seated, “Mrs. 
Stratskyi, point out your husband again. They 
got mixed in the scuffle.” 

I could not help but smile as she stood there, 
baffled again in her attempt to identify her one 
time lord and master. 


396 


SILENCE 


“Can you point to the man you designated as 
your ex-husband a few minutes ago?” 

“No.” And she whispered in his ear. “Ask 
them again this question: ‘Do you both intend to 
make a laughing stalk of me and my friends?’ ” 

“Do you men care to be lodged in jail?” 

“We do not,” in one voice. 

“Do you both intend to make a laughing stalk 
of me and my friends?” 

“God forbid, monsieur.” 

“I’m a gentleman, monsieur.” 

“Who’s who, Mrs. Stratskyi?” 

“I cannot say, seeing that both are imitating 
the other.” 

“To all intents and purposes you two foreign- 
ers are lying for some sinister design. Both of you 
are scoundrels, and both of you ought to be 
locked up in jail, and I would send you there if 
I only knew of a tangible cause that would land 
you behind the bars. As it is I can only show 
you both the door. This woman here has married 
one of you, which one though is still a secret. 
However, to guard against any further molesta- 
tion from either of you money-hunting rakes I 
will see to it that she secures a second divorce, 
thus frustrating any premeditated designs upon 
the remnants of her foi’tune by either of you un- 
principled rogues. There’s the door, you,” point- 


WHO’8 WHO? 


397 


ing to one of the Counts^ who thereupon rose 
and made haste to vacate. 

^^And you, too/’ and in another moment the 
second Count had disappeared. 

should like to know who’s w'ho,” and the 
Countess sighed to herself as if with weariness. 

^^Aye, who’s who?” and Cyrus proceeded to pace 
the floor of the room, his mind in a quandary on 
which no ray of light descended to elucidate the 
perplexing problem. 

^^Wilburt, come here.” 

The young man, red in face with shame, ap- 
peared before his father, speculating as to what 
was in store for him. 

^^What ought I to do with you?” 
cannot answer this question.” 

^What would you do under the existing cir- 
cumstances?” 

cannot say how I would conduct myself, 
father.” 

^^Are you pleased at the knowledge that you 
are a father?” 

am, sir; before my God I am.” 

^Why have you acted as you have toward your 
poor wife?” 

was infatuated.” 

^What became of your religion?” 

^^The eyes of passion know no religion save 


398 


BILENCE 


that of the law of Nature.” 

“Wisely spoken, son. When the call of Na- 
ture comes a-cooing to two hot-blooded young- 
sters, the teaching of Church, mother and father 
is forgotten in the wild sweat of concupiscence. 
However, I hope you do not mean to present this 
excuse as an extenuation for your compromising 
conduct?” 

“I do not.” 

“Suppose now — mind you, this is only a plausi- 
bility — the heinous charge of forgery should be 
withdrawn from you, then what?” 

I saw the light of relief mantle his face as he 
fixed his eyes upon the downcast ones of his 
former wife; noted, too, the large tears well in 
the eyes of the w’oman in black whom he had 
lured from her husband and home and dragged 
to the gutter of actual want. 

“Florence!” and he hastened to her with open 
arms, “can you, will you forgive me, take me 
back to your heart?’’ 

“Daughter, come here.” 

Her eyes were downcast as she obeyed him. 
Falling upon her knees and laying her head on his 
hands, she sobbed like a child. 

^‘And th'S is the woman whom you outraged!” 

“Pathe > .. '’ve me!” and on his knees he fell. 


WHO’S WHO^ 


399 


a repentant prodigal son suing for forgiveness at 
the eleventh hour. 

^^Son, son, you have very nearly murdered your 
poor old dad with your acts of violence against 
‘this little girl and me.’’ 

^^Florence, dear,” and he stole his right arm 
jaround her slender waist. ^^Look at me, wife, 
and say that you, too, have forgiven me, and that 
|you will take me back. For the baby’s sake, 
dear, if not for my own.” 

^Wilburt, my husband!” and she closed her 
arms around his neck and wept with unconcealed 
emotion as she clung to him with joy at this un- 
expected reunion. 

^^Call the officer, Bangs. 

^Wilburt, my son, prayer has conquered the 
devil in your soul, therefore I forgive you, and 
take you back to my heart. 

^^Officer, destroy the warrant that I had sworn 
out for my son’s arrest,” and with an obsequious 
bow the factotum of peace made his exit, tear- 
ing the warrant as he did so. 

^^Mr. Cassaway, allow me to say a few words, 
please.” 

^^Do so, boy, by all means.” 

^^Listen, you scoundrel,” and he shook his huge 
fist in Wilburt’s face. ^^What about the woman 
you lured from my home?” 


400 


SILENCE 


‘‘I was just coming to that, Cyrus.” 

“You were?” 

“Yes, boy.” 

“Keturn her her lost honor and I, too, will take 
her back, love and cherish her as when first I 
wooed her.” 

“Oh, Cyrus! Cyrus!” and with a heartbreaking 
sob the woman flung herself on her knees befo 
him, sobbing hysterically. 

“My boy ” 

“Can you restore her priceless honor?” 

“Would to God that I could!” 

“Then, woman, you are lost!” stepping to one 
side. 

“Cyrus! Cyrus!” 

“You are lost, woman.” 

“My God, Cyrus!” and she sprang to her feet 
and started toward him. 

“Stand! Remain where you are!” 

“For heaven’s sake, Cyrus, show me mercy!” 

“Return to me with your honor and I will be 
to you what I was ere the shadow of Doom cross- 
ed our threshold.” 

“Oh, it’s lost! lost!” wringing her hands in 
grief. 

“Cyrus, boy!” approaching him. 

“Stand! There is a marked difference between 
my wife and me, and that of your son and his 


WHO’S WHO? 


401 


wife. Society will welcome the return of the 
prodigal son, the licentious husband, and greet 
him with open arms, licking his hands and fawn- 
ing upon his every smile. He has scaled the crags 
of hell, feasted upon its poison, shared its se- 
crets, and basked his soul in its lusts. He has 
made of my wife a prostitute, dragged her to his 
brute level, and leaves her stranded in the sewer 
of lost womanhood, with the brand of incest 
burnt into her name with a scarlet hue. Take her 
by the hand and lift her up to the level of Ee- 
spectibility; blot from her once fair escutcheon 
the damnable infamy foisted upon it by your son; 
resurrect her honor from the putrid slum of de- 
pravity; strike from her burning memory the 
acid-eating sting of outraged Conscience, and I 
will take her back to my heart as your daughter- 
in-law has taken back her husband.’^ 

^^Oh, Cyrus, you ask much, so much!’’ 

^^Not any more than you will ask and receive 
for your son. Polite Dames of Society will tilt 
their fine noses in disgust at the mere mention 
of her name, though they themselves are spoil- 
ers of the bed of secret concupiscence. Titular 
matrons of the gilded set of Aristocracy will 
sneer at her, lift their dainty skirts, fearing that 
they might become contaminated, though they 
themselves are viler than the daughters of an- 


402 


SILENCE 


cient Babylon. The woman has fallen^ pounce 
upon her with both feet and hands; drag her 
through the lanes of Notoriety; drub her name 
with mud and insults for, she’s but a woman that 
has been found out. Proclaim her hussy, minx, 
as the case may be; snub her at every given 
chance; drive her to an early grave so that the 
coarse worms and gnats may feast upon her flesh 
and bones, and worship the scoundrel who ruined 
her honor and her name. 

^^Like hyenas upon a mountain-top, bivouack- 
ing for the smell of a decaying carcass, the wom- 
en of your Smart Society are on the qui vivo, 
awaiting with devilish eagerness the chance to 
flaunt this woman’s past into her face, to brand 
her ^That Mrs. Scencio who eloped with that 
handsome Apollo, Wilburt Cassaway, Jr.’ Like 
a lot of shedevils they are awaiting this oppor- 
tunity of displaying their contempt for a fallen 
member of their tinseled set, gloating at this 
chance of thus showing their superiority over 
their fallen sister by acts of abominable rudeness 
and savage lust of stinging slurs, flghting over 
the whispered evil like mongrel curs over a 
bone.” 

Truth hurts, thought I, as I listened to tnis 
brutal arraignment of the woman by my friend; 
aye, its sting is like unto the bite of an adder ; yet. 


WHO’ 8 WHO? 


403 


how else are we to eradicate the existing evils 
if none of ns has enough backbone to raise his 
voice and cry the evils down? 

^^Cyrus Scencio, you are inhuman!’’ 

^^Much less so, friend, than the members of your 
society.” 

had no hand in the making of its iron-clad 
laws.” 

^^Neither had I. Your son has ravaged the 
honor of my Avife, made of her what she is to-day. 
Will you provide for her future wants? Will 
you be a father to her coming child, robbed of its 
rightful parent through the laxity of our divorce 
courts?” 

will, boy. I’ll raise the child as my own, 
care for its mother as if she were my daughter.” 

^Wilburt Cassaway, you have outraged my 
honor and my trust of friendship with hellish 
foresight and with demoniacal precision, and 
came within a hair’s breadth of paying for your 
dastardly crime with 3"our rotten blood. Let this 
knowledge be remembered by you, and see to it 
that the future brings us not in contact, for, by 
my soul I swear that at this moment I could rip 
the flesh from your bones and fling it to the dogs. 
Let this be a warning. Come, friends,” facing 
p^out and addressing the Countess and myself, 
^flet us be going.” 


SILENCE 


40i 

“Cyrus! Cyrus! have pity!” and she flung her- 
self in his path and tried to detain him with hys- 
terical strength. 

Gently but firmly he released her hands and 
made his way from the room, his jaw set in de- 
termination as he marched down the corridor, 
fighting down the still smouldering desire to take 
back to his heart the woman who had so nearly 
wrecked his life, his hopes and aspirations, and 
beached him upon the path that leads to a mur- 
derer’s row and the gallows. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


THE TRAGEDY. 

Five weeks had passed since the never-to-be- 
forgotten scene in the apartments of the elder 
Cassaway at the New Denechaud hotel, days 
wherein my friend painted with sudden eagerness 
during the day and spent the nights with a wom- 
an whom I had met but once. And the relation- 
ship between him and his beautiful model was 
strained to the point where the traveler meets the 
^^parting of the Avays.’’ 

The double Counts from Hungary had depart- 
ed for regions unknown; the Cassaways had re- 
turned to New York, w^here the wheels of the law 
had been oiled and put in motion for the pur- 
pose of annulling the younger Cassaway^s second 
marriage on the grounds of a technicality in his 
divorce proceedings, the woman in the case be- 
ing installed in a temporary home in this city 
by the magnanimous millionaire, with ample 

405 


406 


SILENCE 


funds to her credit in a local bank to provide for 
her mundane wants. 

The picture being declared finished it was ex- 
hibited to Miss Silence and myself, then packed 
and boxed for shipment to a New York Fifth 
avenue art dealer. 

The hour was about 7 p. M. Cyrus had during 
the day received from a local tailor a new full 
dress suit, together with such accessories as led 
me to believe that he was to attend a formal 
'banquet. Of late he had been most non-commit- 
tal relative to his movements, and as he donned 
his new outfit, silk hat and opera cape and re- 
marked that he w'ould see me in Miss Silence’s 
room, I refrained from injecting any queries as 
to where he was bound to this night. 

And when he was gone, and I, seated in my 
rocker smoking and speculating whether my hot- 
blooded Southern friend really intended to marry 
the dark-skinned beauty of Esplanade street, I 
became aware of a familiar voice of a woman in 
the next room as that belonging to the former 
wife of Cyrus. The suites were separated by a 
large folding door, locked from one side and 
bolted on the other, yet a conversation carried 
on in an ordinary tone was plainly audible in my 
room, when one wished to play the role of a 
court eavesdropper and station himself with one 


THE TRAGEDY 


407 


ear close to the keyhole, the which I did for the 
nonce. I could even see the two women as they 
faced each other, my lady Silence robed in a fan- 
tastic lingerie called a receiving gown, no 
sleeves, low neck, a long train, and her priceless 
string of virgin pearls gleaming upon her wax- 
like throat, with a brilliant diamond tiara spark- 
ling in her golden tresses, whilst the other wom- 
an was dressed in a smart street costume, a 
dark bronze velvet tailor made suit, most be- 
coming to her strange beauty. 

‘A hear from most reliable authority that 
Cyrus is to be married to-night at the residence 
of his bride-to-be, Esplanade near Clayborne, to a 
Miss Viola du Louque.’^ 

‘A am aware of this intelligence, madame.’^ 

^^The woman in question is unsuited to him, is 
another member of Smart Society, and will 
surely cause him many hours of heartaches and 
keen anxiety.’’ 

^^And why?” 

^^Because Cyrus is a man with domestic pro- 
clivities, Bohemian in his ideas, and is not fond 
of the pink-teas, balls, and horse shows so de- 
lightful to the women of our gilded set.” 

^^You appear to understand his nature most 
thoroughly, Mrs. Cassaway.” 

^A^es. And to the sorrow of my soul I have 


408 


SILENCE 


learned the value of his sublime nature, what he 
once was to me, and what he might have been.” 

“The sublimeness of his nature, madame, has 
been lost in the garnered past. At present he is 
like a great many men you know, coarse of 
thought and evil of mind.” 

“I do not believe it.” 

“’vYhy have you come to me?” 

“To save him.” 

“From what?” 

“From his folly and the woman who would 
wreck his genius.” 

“As you have done in the past.” 

“As I have done in my blindness.” 

“I would help him if I knew how.” 

“Cannot you save him?” 

“And turn his love-starved heart to you?” 

“Would it not be an act of charity?” 

“Fll save him!” 

“Oh, you are so kind.” 

“For myself, madame.” 

A gasp of pain pierced the suspended silence 
as the woman reeled as if struck with a blow. 

“For yourself!” she finally echoed in a choking 
voice. 

“Why not? You drove him to the brink of 
hatred and of murder; you turned his feet to- 
ward a prisoner’s cell and the gallows; you 


THE TRAGEDY 


409 


wrecked his robust health and made of him a 
raving idiot, parched with the thirst of venge- 
ance. I picked him up, nursed him with a moth- 
er's tenderness, schooled him in the art of pa- 
tience, stripped myself to the skin and posed for 
him, so that the ambition of his life might be 
realized. Am I not deserving of his love, the ten- 
derness of his affection, and of his caresses?’’ 

^^You shock me. Countess.” 

^^Call me Silence as heretofore, for the title 
of Countess is but an empty one to me. You say 
that you are shocked? And pray why fore? T 
buried my modesty in the pool of love; I drove 
from my thoughts the knowledge of Sex and re- 
vealed myself in all my natural beauty of ting- 
ling flesh and moulded limbs so that he, the man 
you drove to the temple of outraged gods, might 
proflt by the revelation of a concealed symmet- 
rical body and win his spurs. What thoughts 
were mine as I thus stood revealed to the man 
who was your husband, the angels alone know. 
I marshalled the battery of my determination 
and fought the assaults of clamoring Passion; I 
drowned the voice of ringing Sex in giant battles 
that left me weak of heart and limb, a smoulder- 
ing volcano in my soul that died a desperate 
death in the struggle of ascending Virtue. I 


410 


SILENCE 


have won a greater victory than did Michael over 
the Prince of Morning. I have saved the man’s 
honor, his virtue and his name, the garbled ac- 
counts of palavering women to the contrary not- 
withstanding.” 

“May I ask your future purpose regarding 
Cyrus and yourself?” 

“You may, and listen: The restraining leash 
of Virtue has melted away this day, my con- 
scious faculties are on fire with the desire of recip- 
rocal love; I am mad with the engulfing surge 
of an inward heat that will stoop to the red hand 
of murder if not soothed by the man who would 
fling me aside, now that his life’s aspirations are 
about to be consummated.” 

“Then you proffer me no morsel of hope?” 

“None whatever. You possessed his love and 
affection, you were the arbiter of his destinv, bis 
fame and renown, and crucified his soul with r,-3li 
calculated acts of intrigue that bit his animation 
like Torpor plasmic flesh.” 

“Then I am lost! lost! lost!” and with a pitiful 
moan the once proud woman reeled from the 
room, convulsed with grief that knew no sooth- 
ing balm in retrospect nor perspect, legitimate 
prey to the food of Eemorse and the sorrow of 
an everlasting past. 

Oh, I am mad, mad, with the lunacy of an im- 


THE TRAGEDY 


411 


becile/’ pacing to and fro in wild steps, the frou- 
frou of her silken petticoats sounding like the 
sibilant hiss of a snake that proclaims its warn- 
ing with lightning flashes of its darting tongue. 

‘A have fought the giant forces of assailing 
Hell, smothered the crying voice of Passion, 
drove into the very vitals of my animation the 
spear of self-imposed rebuff; and, this is my re- 
ward 

^^Ah! I hear his steps, denied Love’s steps 
and she made haste to draw from behind a por- 
tiere a large canvas, and place it on an easel ini 
the corner, then drew from her escritoire a pint 
bottle of wine and proceeded to fill two glasses, 
setting them on the round table in the centre of 
the room. 

^^Love’s potion, this!” and into one of the 
glasses she emptied a white-looking powder just 
as Cyrus wrapped for admittance. 

I had heard her dwell upon these love powders 
so often of late that I laughed softly to myself, 
speculating what effect one of these mysterious 
concoctions would have upon my friend. 

^^Good evening. Silence!” and he deposited his 
silk hat and white kid gloves on the table, then 
surveyed the woman before him. 

^^Are you prepared for your wedding, Cyrus?” 

At this his face flushed crimson, a startled looK 


412 


SILENCE 


crept into his eyes as fear poised upon his heart 
and feasted on his senses. 

“Silence, dear, you are not yourself to-night. 
What has perturbed you so?” 

“Your wife was here.” 

“My wife!” 

“Yes.” 

“What did she want?” 

“Your affection and your love.” 

“She cannot span the chasm between us at 
this late date.” 

“She also imparted to me a most delectable bit 
of news.” 

“Its nature?” 

“That you are to be married to-night to a Miss 
Viola du Louque.” 

“For that reason I am here. You probably 
are aware of the fact that I have been keeping 
company with a certain young lady on Esplanade 
street ?” 

“I have known it for some time, Cyrus.” 

“Do you know why I am going to take her to 
wife?” 

“Yes. You have grown tired of blondes,, and 
wish a brunette for a change.” 

“You do me an injustice, Silence.” 

“Forgive me, Cyrus. I forgot that you have 
sprouted angelic appendages. 


THE TRAGEDY 


413 


this satire?’^ 

you are going to be married to-night, 

dear?^’ 

^^Then/’ handing him the glass with the pow- 
der, ^det us drink to the success of your new 
matrimonial venture, Cyrus/’ 

Glasses clinked, each drained the wine to the 
last drop, whilst I laughed till the tears rolled 
down ymy face as I speculated as to the success 
of Love’s conjured potion upon my contumacious 
friphd. 

//'Heavens! but this wine is bitter!” making a 
%i’y face as he wiped his lips. 

^^Now listen: I told you on a former occasion, 
not so many months ago, that you were a brutej 
and it appears that I have not erred in my de- 
duction.” 

^^Silence, dear, you are most rude.” 

^With the lance of Truth. I have loved you 
with all the strength of my heart, lavished my 
affection upon you as no other woman has ever 
done without proffering you the sweets of flesh. 
I have endeavored to show you that I can love 
you, be near you, fondle you with kisses, and yet 
be virtuous. To-day was to be the dawn of my 
capitulation to your brute will, the surrender of 
queen Virtue to the shambles of king Passion, the 


414 


SILENCE 


death of Opposition and the fulfillment of das- 
tard Hopes. You have reproduced on canvas 
an image that would bring you fame, renown 
and glory from the coffers of the patrons of art, 
and the National Academy of Fine Arts. I have 
loaned you without compensation the sight and 
study of my figure, you to reap immortal fame 
and I the proverbial mess of pottage, the herit- 
age of every woman who trades her sublime 
nudity for an artist’s behalf.” 

“Oh, I am sick. Silence, sick in my stomach 
with a deadly pain,” and he staggered to the 
nearest seat as the woman continued: 

“You are groomed for your marriage, but not 
to a woman.” 

“Who with, dear? Not you?” 

“No sir.” 

“Then who?” 

“Death!” 

My very knees gave way as the man rasped in 
a throaty voice: 

“Death! Death!” then struggled to his feet and 
swayed like a drunken man. 

“Yes. Everlasting Subjugation in the bowels 
of king Torpor, You are poisoned, and by my 
agency; and, over in the corner there lies your 
shattered painting of Venus Taking Her Bath.” 

His fast glassing eyes were riveted upon the 


THE TRAGEDY 


415 


slit and mangled canvas for several seconds, 
then with a devilish oath he made a lunge for 
his steel paper cutter lying on the table and, with 
a savage thrust at the woman, plunged the weapon 
into her breast, reeled for a minute, then tumbled 
over beside his prostrate victim. 

I ran to the door and hammered at its resist- 
ing panels with insane rage and fury; the silence 
of the hall I ravaged with blood-curdling curses 
as I returned to my own room, and with demoni- 
acal energy, wedged an iron poker between the 
two doors, and strove with giant strength of de- 
spair to force them apart and gain admittance 
to the murderous scene. 

A creaking, rasping sound, then a violent fall 
over a piece of furniture, and I shot through the 
aperture as if propelled by a catapult. 

“Mr. Everett, there is a glass containing a 
powerful antidote on the dresser there. Majje 
haste and give it to your friend.” 

I knocked several chairs helter-skelter as I 
obeyed the woman, forced the set teeth of Cyrus 
and was just in the act of pouring the contents 
down his throat when I stopped spasmodically, 
the sweat oozing from my pores in large, dank, 
drops. 

“Is this more poison?” I rasped in awe. 

“No. Hurry, you fool!” 


416 


SILENCE 


Down his throat I poured the concoction, cross- 
ed my sinful breast and consigned my friend to 
a merciful fate. 

“There!” and the woman threw from her the 
steel cutter and rose to her feet. 

“Are you not hurt?” I gasped. 

“No. The point got wedged between the ribs 
of steel in my corset.” 

For a moment she stood there, surveying her 
lover in the throes of mighty death, then fell 
beside him on her knees and sobbed convulsively. 

“Cyrus, dear, do you not love your little girl, 
your Silence?” 

“I’m dreaming, dear.” 

“Of me?” 

“Of you.” 

“Tell me your dream.” 

“I see your strands of fine-spun golden hair 
flying in the air above the nocturnal clouds; and 
I am in your arms, speeding to the home of Cu- 
pid’s fancy realm, where bowered dells of tan- 
gled roses reach their perfumed tendrils to the 
silver heights of paradise, and violet leaves are 
(Strewn upon the floor as bed for you and I.” 

“What else see you?” 

“Stop conjuring this dying man,” and I made 
fast of her bare arms and tried to drag her from 
her posture, when all the evil sorcery of the In- 


TEE TRAGEDY 


417 


fernal Regions rose in their might and smote me 
stark and dumb with terror. 

see ourselves in a perfumed vale where gor- 
geous birds in rainbow feathers sport in the em- 
pyreal air, and souls released from the bondage 
of narrow thoughts and perverted ethics, com- 
mingle with their chosen mates and bow to Love, 
supreme in heights eternal.’^ 

^^Whom do you love, Cyrus 

^^You, Silence, with a wild abandonment of my 
soul that defies the wrinkled visage of King 
Death, and the charnel tombs of his frozen 
realm.^^ 

^Then this is our wedding night, dear?’’ 

^^Aye, to feast upon the spread of rapturous love 
and drink its wine with kisses long and tender,’^ 
and he stole his arms around the slender neck 
of his enchantress, and kissed her long and pas- 
sionately. 

^^AriseT’ 

Slowly he raised himself to a sitting posture, 
then regained his two-footed equilibrium and 
stared at me as if in a trance. 

^^That mangled canvas there is not your work, 
Cyrus, but a cheap picture that I purchased some 
days ago to use as a demonstration of what 
might happen to you, were I a bondwoman to 
black Vengeance.’^ 


418 


SILENCE 


“And I stabbed you, girly!” with a renewed 
horror in his dark eyes, 

“My corset, sweet, not me. I am not hurt, be- 
lieve me.” 

“Silence, dear, I love you!” 

“Cyrus, love!” and into each other’s arms they 
fell, laughing, kissing and weeping by turn, 
whilst I fled the room in utter disgust, entered 
my bachelor den and began to pack my belong- 
ings, determined to leave these simpletons to fight 
for their own salvation and return to New York 
and to my neglected practice. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


IN REBUTTAL. 

The three greatest evils in this fair country, 
disrupting society and marring the advance of 
civilization and science, are Race-track gamb- 
ling, Whiskey and Divorce, factors that have 
become so preponderant in the spread of their 
evil that even the Press throughout the country 
has taken heed of it and is adding its voice to 
that of the Clergy in a vain endeavor to stifle it. 

Marriage and its principles as carried out in 
this twentieth century is not wrong in its form; 
its precepts, propagated by all denominations, 
creeds, and civil judges, are built upon a concrete 
structure shown to be solvent both in theory and 
in practice for the last two thousand years. What 
then is the basic cause of the wild spread of the 
divorce evil? 

Simply this: The utter laxity of the Law. 

Mrs. Scencio secured her decree of absolute 
divorce on no palpable grounds, no tangible 

419 


420 


SILENCE 


cause. Incompatibility of temperament is not ir- 
lefragable evidence on which a court should 
^i^under the ties of matrimony. Perjured in- 
fidelity in the case of the younger Cassaway made 
that gentleman amenable to the severest pun- 
ishment of the sovereign State of New York. 

Again we see the weakness of the Divorce LaTr 
in that it is not national in its scope. Each 
State has its own laws governing the granting 
of divorce, with the exception of South Carolina, 
which grants none even for infidelity. A man 
can go to the State of Florida, obtain a divorce 
on certain grounds, marry again, return to New 
lork and be arrested, as happened to a promi- 
nent New Yorker some three years ago, who en- 
joyed the Mormonatic distinction of having two 
legal wives in as many States. 

Whiskey has gathered more sons and daugh- 
ters for the kingdom of Old Nick than almost 
any other evil. Though of late certain States 
have taken severe measures in regulating its 
dispensation, as is the case with Georgia, Ala- 
bama and Oklahoma, they having gone completely 
dry. 

The hundred-odd brothel shops in the city of 
New Orleans do more damage in six months 
than all the saloons do in greater New York. The 
combined whiskey emporiums of Philadelphia, 


IN REBUTTAL 


421 


Baltimore and Boston produce but one criminal 
out of every ten thousand men as to Buffalo with 
its one criminal out of every one thousand, and 
New Orleans five out of every one hundred. 

Of the evils of the race-track gambling one 
need but take a glance at the dailies to see the 
fruits of this eyesore. State institutions are fill- 
ed with the wrecks of lost manhood and woman- 
hood; asylums for children swarm with hordes 
of orphans, brought to beggary by the insane 
craze of gambling. The curb in Wall street is a 
gambling hell, the Stock Exchanges are gamb- 
ling dens just as much as Pool Rooms, Lottery 
and Policy shops. Our laws are most profusely 
lax in certain respects. Let its conscience 
stretch itself a little, pounce upon these favored 
gambling institutions and abrogate this evil, 
warping the senses of our young men throughout 
every city and hamlet. Let corporate graft feel 
the stranglehold of the Law; let Franchise steal- 
ers rest their avaricious bones in Sing-Singes 
gloomy retreat; let Predatory Wealth pay its just 
toll in taxes the same as the common people, pro- 
vided, of course, that the administrators of Jus- 
tice do not wish the coming generations to re- 
vert back to barbaric savagery and ignorance. 

Primordial man had his law — a stone ax or a 
club. Must civilization retrograde to those medi- 


422 


SILENCE 


eval times and resort to a bludgeon in order to 
bring about an even Justice? Must brute force 
rise above the temple of Science and Knowledge, 
and with bloodshed turn the face of the Law to- 
ward EQUAL JUSTICE FOE ALL? 

Learned judges, if they should chance to read 
the above, will damn it as “popular passion, so- 
cialism or anarchism”; and, as one small voice 
can do but little in its own defense, and, whereas 
the Press to-day is the strongest mouthpiece of 
the country’s citizens, I hereby affix one of the 
New York Journal’s remarkable editorials bear- 
ing the caption “With Hats Off, Most Politely, 
Let Us Address the Supreme Court,” an editorial 
that ought to be cast in bronze and hung in both 
chambers of our National Capitol, mailed gratis 
to every servant of the people, whether Senator, 
Congressman, Governor, Mayor, etc., etc., with 
the name of the editor who composed this most 
erudite exhortation affixed thereto as a remind- 
er that brains, thought and foresight are yet 
extant despite the abominable spread of Machiavel- 
lan commercialism in the pulpits, rostrums, and in 
the halls of our National and State capitals. 

“It is announced that the Justices of the Uni- 
ted States Supreme Court, having taken coun- 
sel together, have decided to jump into the tor- 


IN REBUTTAL 


423 


rent of ^present day tendencies,’ as the honor- 
able Horatius jumped into the raging Tiber. 

“The people will want to know what the gentle- 
men mean by ‘present day tendencies.’ 

“By the way of detail, it is stated that the Su- 
preme Court Judges purpose to stand ‘between 
the Constitution and popular passion.’ 

“What do the gentlemen mean by ‘popular pas- 
sion’? 

“Everything that a man feels strongly is a pas- 
sion. It was the popular passionate demand for 
independent government that gave us the Decla- 
ration of Independence, and subsequently the 
Constitution of which these judges talk. 

“It was passionate hatred of class government 
that compelled the framers of the Constitution 
against their will, to put into that Constitution 
the bill of rights, liberty of the press, of free 
speech, of free assembly, the right of habeas cor- 
pus, etc. 

“Nobody wants mob rule. Nobody wants the 
fleeting idea of the moment, the hatred aroused 
by some individual act of injustice, or some indi- 
vidual national misfortune, to overthrow stable, 
reliable ideas of government. 

“But, on the other hand. Supreme Court or no 
Supreme Court, the People purpose to Govern 
this country. 


424 


SILENCE 


^‘Back in the sixties there were some Supreme 
Court Judges who felt for a very little while that 
it was their duty to prevent ^the mob, popular pas- 
sion,’ from doing away with human slavery. 

'‘That Supreme Court put on record the Bred 
Scott decision. But it didn’t take the same court 
long to find out that when the people really want 
something they are going to have it. And that 
same Supreme Court that stood between 'pop- 
ular passion’ and slavery, protecting the latter, 
was before long busy making constitutional pro- 
visions for a government in which body slavery 
thereafter should be unknown. 

"The Supreme Court now specifies among its 
various virtues its determination to curb the pas- 
sion of the people so far as workingmen are con- 
cerned. 

"Very good, indeed, if any workingman or his 
representative is trying to act in opposition to the 
will of the majority of the people. 

"But if the demands of the workingmen repre- 
sent the well-considered will of the majority of 
the people, the Supreme Court of the United 
States is only making itself ridiculous, and re- 
peating the Bred Scott decision, when it tries to 
prevent the people from having their own way, 
for they will have it in spite of the most learned 
and estimable gentlemen that ever wore silk. 


^ m REBUTTAL 


425 


^^The trouble with some of our highminded pub- 
lic meuj put upon the bench and in executive of- 
fice by the people^ is that they mistake the will 
of the people for the will of the ^mob.’ You can- 
not indict a whole nation, and even the honorable 
and admirable Justices of the Supreme Court can 
not rule but to interpret the Constitution accord- 
ing to the will of the people. Their decisions are 
not infallible. But the people’s will is infalli- 
ble. 

^When the question of an income tax came up 
before the Supreme Court a majority of that 
body decided that rich men should pay their 
share to the Government’s support. 

^^And then one of the honorable body turned 
a back somersault and decided the other way. 
And therefore the people to this day are forbid- 
den to tax the incomes of the rich, whose protec- 
tion is one of the chief functions of government. 

^^The man who enjoys an annual income of 
thirty millions, cannot, according to your decis- 
ion, be taxed one cent to pay for the national 
protection he receives. 

^^And that decision we owe to the back somer- 
sault turned by a learned Supreme Court Justice 
in his silk gown. 

^^Don’t you know, learned gentlemen, that ulti- 
mately, popular passion or no popular passion, mob 


426 


SILENCE 


or no mob, the people of this country are going 
to compel the rich people to pay their share of 
taxes, and don’t you know that they will in- 
duce the Supreme Court, whether it wants to or 
not, to turn that somersault over again in the 
other direction? 

“Some of the finest minds in this country are on 
the Supreme Court bench of the United States. 
These minds, however, make mistakes, as others 
do. And their judgment may be undermined by 
power and over-confidence, as has happened be- 
fore. 

“This newspaper knows less about law and the 
Constitution than the Justices of the Supreme 
Court. On the other hand, it knows a hundred 
times as much of the will of the people as all of 
those Justices put together, since it deals daily 
and intimately with millions of citizens. 

“We can tell the Supreme Court what it may 
•Rush to know, that its recent decisions on labor 
are thoroughly detested, and they misrepresent the 
will of the people. 

“When the Supreme Court of the United States 
for any reason, with any plausible display of 
sophistry, forbids the people to protect themselves 
from mistreatment by Interstate Corporations, that 
Supreme Court inevitably prepares for itself a re- 


IN REBUTTAL 


427 


versal from the still Higher Court which it occa- 
sionally seems to forget. 

^^One decision tells the people of the United 
States that workingmen have no right to black- 
list any corporation. And the Supreme Court of 
the United States follows that up by the state- 
ment that any corporation has a right to black- 
list any union workingman. 

^^We beg to inform the Supreme Court that 
those decisions are not going to stand side by 
side. They won^t stand, because the people don^t 
approve of them. 

“It is not desirable that to save money the great 
railroad companies should use dangerous machin- 
ery, evade the law as to safety appliances, and 
butcher their employees. 

^^The Supreme Court has said that Congress has 
no power to pass a law holding employers abso- 
lutely responsible under the ^Liability’ law. 

^^But the Supreme Court is mistaken. The peo- 
ple have that power, and they will exercise it, 
court or no court. 

“It is cheerful to know that in these days of 
earnest thinking, and for some human beings no 
work and little eating, the Supreme Court is do- 
ing its share of the hard thinking. But we be- 
lieve that we represent the people of the United 
States when we tell the Supreme Court respect- 


428 


SILENCE 


ully that what the people want just now is a 
court that will stand between a workingman and 
his safety of life and limb, not a court that will 
stand between the body of the people and their 
right to control corporations, but a Supreme 
Court that will stand between the rights of the 
people and the grasping dishonesty of corpora- 
tions that too often have their say in Supreme 
Court and other judicial decisions. 


^'The people want to be protected, not merely 
lectured by their Judges.'' 

This country is in dire need of a few more fear- 
less men like Congressman Hearst, Mayor Tom 
L. Johnson of Cleveland, Ohio; Senator La Fol- 
lette, and Governors Glenn and Folk, men im- 
mune to the jingling music of Gold; men whose 
souls are irrevocably beyond the contaminating 
influence of the Mighty Dollar. 

When the voting masses of this country (the 
moHycoddles, if you please), realize that the sa- 
cred Ballot IS the strongest weapon extant in a 
Bepubhcan form of Government, the evils now 
existent will be abrogated. 

Men like William Randolph Hearst and Sena- 
tor La Follette, the garbled newspaper accounts to 
he contrary notwithstanding, have done and, for 
that matter, are doing to-day, more for collective 
numanity than is given them credit. 


REBUTTAL 


429 


Spiders in the Web of Modern Buccaneers and 
Captain Kidds of High Finance; plunderers of 
Common utilities and Franchise stealers force 
the nomination and election of their miserable 
puppets (the McClellans and Wittpens), place 
them in office through the application of a solu- 
ble potion concocted by a Mongrel Pirate and ad- 
ministered by a sworn hyperaspist in the shape 
and form of a green or yello'w piece of paper, 
known to us as legal tender, and fleece anew the 
treasuries belonging to the people. 

This Government of the people should be gov- 
erned by one of the people belonging to the peo- 
ple for the people. Instead it is governed by 
bloodthirsty leeches for a favored few — savages 
who suck the blood from the vitals of the com- 
mon classes and foist upon them their tried and 
tested henchmen as Senators, Governors, May- 
ors, etc., etc. 

In the bankrupt town across the North Kiver 
— Jersey City — ^a feeble spider holds the fort of 
the City Hall. A millionaire sybarite is appoint- 
ed City Collector, there is talk of his poor son 
being installed as his assistant, and, if he has au}^ 
more available timber for sinecure positions 
amongst his brood, and the present administra- 
tion cannot place them, I hope that ^^Bob’^ 
Davis will so inform me and I will see to it that 


430 


SILENCE 


my publishers give them a position, for times are 
unduly hard and money scarce. What a disgrace 
in this age of enlightenment! 

Here’s a town whose chief executive, in less 
than thirty days, is the most execrated and re- 
viled man in the city of his birth. 

At Valley Forge, Yorktown and Bunker Hill, 
our sainted forefathers fought bloody battles for 
“Equal Taxation or No Representation.” In Bos- 
ton the Tea Party showed its strenuous disap- 
proval of the “Stamp Act” by boarding the ves- 
sels and destroying the tea; in Virginia the slo- 
gan cry was “Give Us Liberty or Give Us 
Death!” The frozen, half-starved, barefooted 
and tattered veterans who crossed the icy Dela- 
ware planted the Stars and Stripes over this 
country and, we were free, free to all intents and 
purposes until after the sixties, when from the 
haunts of Satan there sprang a clique of scoun- 
drels who, since, have so augmented their rapa- 
cious brood by acts of lawlessness and avaricious- 
ness that to-day we are no better off than the 
serfs of Russia. 

Politics is as necessary an adjunct to modern 
cn ilization as is religion or science. Brute-force 
and bloodshed though will spring from the bow- 
els of Anarchism and drive our children back to 
the stages of barbarism and savagery if the Plu- 


m REBUTTAL 


431 


tocratic Octopus’, now standing before the Pub- 
lic in the guise of Champions and Exponents of 
Democracy and Eepublicanism, are not driven 
from the temple of Politics. 

The days of Dictatorship are reposing in the 
shades of Limbo. The man sent to the White 
House is the servant of the people, not its lord 
and master, and has no moral right to appoint 
his successor by Machiavellian espousals nor to 
throttle the delegates to a convention like Sa- 
tan’s stranglehold upon the soul of a drunkard. 

Police Inspectors, Judges, Mayors, etc., sell 
their conscience and their soul for filthy lucre, 
moral lepers these who ride the waves of Cor- 
ruption and spread the disease like the roll of 
cholera in India. The Administration of Justice 
has come to be a mockery and a farce. Devils in 
the guise of lofty men sell their honor, name and 
soul, foist themselves upon a long-suffering pub- 
lic, and with the help of our sacred Constitution 
twisted, distorted and convulsed until it has lost 
all its former resemblance, pounce upon the pub- 
lic like scavengers upon a mount of offal. 

To quote the ninth verse of a poem entitled 
^^Justice,” probably the most fearless, brutal and 
unflinching arraignment of an outraged, mocked 
and reviled administration of the application of 
the Law to the Buccaneers of High Finance and 


432 


SILENCE 


Franchise stealers that has been written in many 
a day: 

“No Future Times shall muffle Justice’s sway. 

Co-equal rich and poor must be I say, 

If Retrogation shall not rule and sway 
The coming multitudes of another day: 

Let Justice wield its sword and sound its voice; 

Be deaf, O pray^ and boast no pamper’d choice; 

Frown at the rich man’s ringing coins of noise 
And, then shall Justice deal Co-equal sway.” 

Co-equal Justice! When? A thousand years 
hence? After rapine lust and murder has seamed 
the face of Civilization and dragged our poster- 
ity back to the stone-ax and the tomahawk. Is 
this country to be robbed of “co-equal applica- 
tion of the Law for the rich and poor during our 
tenure of mundane existence and that of our be- 
loved children”? Are we destined to die fighting 
in the trenches of “Equal Rights For All,” have 
our bones shoveled out of sight and lie in the 
shade of blind Oblivion for several generations 
to come ere the voter, with the hammer of his 
sacred Ballot, knocks the flagitious scoundrels 
from their offices and install in their place men 
of probity, of virtue and of honor? 

We have no kings and queens in this country 
■ — God save us from such an evil! yet a mongrel 
aristocracy sits supreme in the favor of the Law, 
its bags of jingling Gold making music to the 
ears of Judges, Legislatures and their ilk, pur- 
chasing Immunity at so much per transgression, 


m REBUTTAL 


433 


and fleecing the poor by every known design. 
Unscrupulous renegades of High Finance corner 
this country's food supply, raise the prices to a 
prohibitive mark, squeeze several millions from 
the poor and, with the blood-money ringing in 
their ears, hie themselves to Continental Eu- 
rope and wallow in the fllth of luxury, sybarites 
brutal as a Mongolian savage. 

Lewdness is borne by pampered wealth and not 
by the poor. Idleness feasts upon the spread of 
secret concupiscence, denied the middle-classes 
and the very poor because they have not the nec- 
essary wherewithal to foster these proclivities of 
pert Society. These frazzled dames and matrons 
of an aristocracy, high-bred, cultured and re- 
fined in all the arts that spring from the lap of 
confluent gayety, and from the font of sybaritic 
incests gleaned from semi-diurnal hobnobbings 
with European snobs, draw the blinds of their 
homes, enter a retreat — an illicit maternity hos- 
pital this — and when well enough to leave, sell 
their bastard offspring to some institution, baby 
farm or asylum, return to their tinseled haunts 
and insert a notice in the papers that Miss so and 
so has just returned from London or Paris and is 
at home to friends from 3 to 5 p. m. 

At Washington, D. C., on 0 Street, S. E., I 
have seen the grand dames of Society enter a 


434 


SILENCE 


certain establishment; and, had I waited until my 
Madam of Opulence left the doctor’s retreat I 
should have remained in front of the house a 
statue; for these social visits are so long that 
if a man did not wish to starve during his espiom 
age he would have to establish a restaurant on 
the sidewalk for the next four or five weks. 

Poor people cannot resort to such expedients; 
and, when Folly finds a girl out, she bears her 
offspring in silence and in shame. 

The wife of Cj^rus Scencio entered such an es- 
tablishment, relieved herself of a burdensome 
load, turned it over to the nurse with an emolu- 
ment of |500 paid by her aged benefactor, went 
to Eome and married a Count from nowhere. 

Wilburt Cassaway, Jr.’s second marriage was 
annulled by a most obliging law, took charge of 
his father’s great metropolitan paper, and is a re- 
spected member of ^^Smart Society.” 

Cyrus received |30,000 for his Venus from an 
art dealer, who immediately disposed of same for 
^65,000. He is not married because the woman 
in the case cannot secure a second divorce from 
her second husband, a Pittsburgh millionaire 
iron manufacturer, facts that the lady did not 
divulge until she and Cyrus accidentally came in 
contact wuth the man at a hotel where both were 
registered, the couple denounced and ejected. 


IN REBUTTAL 


435 


They are now in Paris where the reports have it 
that my friend is on the road to Fame triumphant 
and immortal. 

Truth drove me to the compilation of the fore- 
going; monumental vices and crimes forced me 
into an investigation of modern sociological con- 
ditions belonging to the unravelling by the Po- 
lice Department, the Grand Juries and our re- 
spected Judges, all of whom are too busy with 
their respective political conundrums to devote 
their energies to such common and prevalenr 
conditions in this twentieth cenury’s civilizaion. 

When Fortune frowned I left my metropoli- 
tan home, became a panhandler of graveyard in- 
surance, an inmate of a County jail, and honor- 
ary member of the hobo fraternity; and, as the 
tale of this problem novel is ended, I affix there- 
to the word ‘^Finis’’ and chain myself anew to 
the somewhat disagreeable task of an exposure 
of certain conditions prevalent in certain cities 
as I found them in my ^When Fortune Frowned.’^ 


FINIS. 


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Announcements. 


BETELGUESE. 

A Trip Through Hell and the Giant Suns Vega 
and Perseus. 

By 

Jean Louis de Esque. 

‘Tt left me stunned and bewildered with its pano- 
rama of the Infinite/^ wrote a man of letters who read 
it in Ms. form. It is, too, the longest lyric poem writ- 
ten in America in a number of years. Its theme is 
grand and sublime, its hypotyposis frightful and un- 
nerving in more ways than one. And, to give an ade- 
quate description of its gigantic scope it is necessary 
to quote several passages, for words of an ad writer 
would fall short of doing justice to both the author 
and the poem. Beginning with a murder scene it takes 
the reader through the Infernal Regions known as 
‘'Betelguese,’’ where 

jargling javels hythe before a toad 

And mutter swift, a curse that stirs the air; 

And prowling spectres that the cauldrons wrought 
Stare at the storm-swept sins that tell 
Of visioned monsters that the night-winds rode 
When bloody plumes of Horror stole to a secret lair 
Beyond the confines of a leprous ghaut. 

A Thaumaturgist peering on the damn’d, 

Raps hideous skulls from which a venom pours, 

And shakes his fists at domes where opals burn, 

From whence the figgum that his hands control 
Is charged with life; and, witches on the sand 
Who sate their thirst in abhorrent gores. 

Flit Fancy’s wings to hazards where a crimson urn — 
Within whose hallowed tomb there writhes a soul — 

And with wrastling Courage that the Dawn hath bred^ 

In fiowing rivers black, to whispers of the night, 

A.S Torture’s stool is dyed a scarlet red. 


Feasts with. Doom upon the shambling shape. 

That fires bright, toss upon their hissing bed. 

And flees to realms where moonlit shadows light: 
Whilst Thought, in horror that the dawn-winds shed, 
Wings itself in blankets dark as crape, 

And feasts upon the afterglow of trust. 

On cauldrons tossed, where crafty dews of Death 
Froth devils’ pomp and burnished guidons bright 
Unto a brilliant height, where falt’ring eyes. 

Betrayed by crystals that now smoulder in the dust. 
Gasps at the conjured sight with startled breath 
As vapours green, war with the sombre light, 

Unstable as the sunset’s golden dyes. 

The scented poisons that the geysers spit 
To grottoed apes, where Sin in splendor reigns; ' 

And cavern’d shapes that dusky shadows hide 
Behind fungus-tapers, whither snarling Doom 
Glares at the tomb of Set, where devils sit. 

Make unsypher’d signs to the weird flames. 

Flit spastic breath to regions far and wide 
And shroud each shrunken eonl with gloom. 

When carcants glov/ like scarlet foam, 

And hiss of pyres froth at the moonless night ■ 

In cesspools vext as blood-shot jazles stare 
From shatter’d tombs of kings in dust, 

A pillared light that cleft a splinter’d dome, 

Peers at the strobic gloom and murderous sight 
Of charnel shard as vipers bold blare 
Wrathfully at each gyving Monarch’s bust. 

And doleful dirges rake the livid gloom, 

A whisper’d sin sobs at the hell-thrown wrecks; 

Graven monsters clasp papyrus old 

And read therefrom each Body’s deeds of shame. 

All cancer’d ghouls on battered keels and decks 
Where warring Cyclops fought as the vellum told 
In cyphers bright, to the whispers of the sullten flame. 
Make hideous visages at the ugly night. 

And terrors that King Tartarus bred 
Assail each separate kingdom treblefold. 

A gangrel clan that some vile Emperor flayed, 

Skirr thro’ the dungeoned halls in flight 
And seek the sequester’d caverns of the dead. 

There, where tapers gleam like virgin gold. 

The tombs of kings and queens in jewels are arrayed; 


There, too, bivouacs a witch who lifts her oowl 
And scans the shambling hordes to curse. 

And with the shatter’d light that cyclones split 

She juggles forth the secrets of her lust 

And hurls her measured voice at Hecate’s owl, 

Past portals dark, where harlots nurse 
Their skinless limbs that Torture bit, 

And stamps her feet into the burning dust 

A.S, into a scyphus bright and terrible she pours a tear; 

And, musing at the siffling winds of gloom. 

She wrinkles face and lifts her bony hands 
And mutters words into the coffined night 
Whereon a silent ghoul hath writ the sign of Fear, 

And changes dusky gloom to purple bloom. 

The dusty shoals to opal-sanded strands 

That reach, past battlewrecks, to crystal light. 

Where mossy vales with poppies bloom. 

And hastes her flight from Misery’s urn. 

To onyx seas where agate torches glow. 

And feasts her eyes upon the deep-set woes of Hell, V 
Upon the pillared foam-dreams of King Doom, 

Where gyte monsters in red cauldrons burn 
With moaning airs that rasp each bone-strewn dell; 

Whilst siffling winds from putrid cajons pour 
Their music to the strains of weird, belching minions, 

That sound the advance guard of reigning Fear unstrung. 

Of droning vypers in this seething pool unhung. 

All lending their wuther to this infernal night, 

Where Blackness struck Queen Fairy Light to the core. 

And Sorcerers wring Despair from their rustling pinions. 
That from my soul this dire woe hath wrung, 

Unto the knowledge of monumental tears unsung. 

What are we to think of the mind of a man but 27 
years of age who can portray such vivid scenes as here 
described? From a murder scene to Typhon’s haunts 
(The Infernal Regions), the giant suns Vega and Per- 
seus, then back again! Truly a gigantic theme for a 
really born poet. 

For the reader's help there is added a prefatory and 
a glossary. 

12 mo., Cloth. 


Connoisseur's Press 


Price $1.25* 
Jersey City. 


DE ODDILO. 


The Seed. 

An Historical Novel. 

By 

Sylvester Cole. 

A publisher who read the book in Ms. form claimed 
it to be the GREATEST SEMI-RELIGIOUS PO- 
LITICAL-HISTORICAL ROMANCE AND TRAG- 
EDY since Kingsley’s ^‘Hypatia.” The action 
of the novel takes place in Paris during the reign of 
Francis I., 1521, terminating with the declaration of 
war by Charles V. of Spain. 

The hero, De Oddilo, is a nobleman reared by a 
family of peasants in the kingdom of Navarre, How 
he ascertains his true identity, the outcome of his mad 
infatuation for his Father’s murderer’s daughter, the 
gruesome manner in which he and his loyal friends 
extract a written confession from the usurper and mur- 
derer (Charles Bertrand la Verux), are graphically 
and minutely portrayed. To read this story is to be 
swayed by treble emotions: to laugh, to weep, and to 
think. It is a literary masterpiece of fiction and his- 
tory blended into most delightful reading. 

12 mo.. Cloth. Price $1.50. 

Connoisseur’s Press, Jersey City. 


THE WEB. 


A Novel. 

By 

E. S. White. 

The title of this romance is appropriate indeed, for 
the meshes in which the actors find themselves 
is spun with almost invisible threads. 

Washington, D. C., is noted for its imposing struc- 
tures of granite and white marble, and its confusing 
avenues named after the states ; and, upon the latter 
hangs the opening threads of the liveliest episodes that 
land an American son of affluence into a sea of unex- 
pected adventures. It fairly bristles with miraculous es- 
capes from death and defeat, strange coincidences and 
aristocratic knavery. Its scope is large, well laid, and 
calculated with the precision of clock-work. The at- 
tempted elopement of the American hero with the real 
Princess, the wild ride over a tortuous mountain 
road, the dead woman in the carriage instead of the 
bride-to-be, are finely portrayed. Love finally tri- 
umphs, and in a most ingenious manner; how, the 
reader must ascertain. 


12 mo., Cloth. 
Connoisseur’s Press, 


Price $1.50. 
Jersey City. 


LA VERUX. 

The Harvest. 

By 

Sylvester Cole. 

Sequel to “De Oddilo” and “Don Vascaeno.” 

Opening seven years after the advent of “De Od- 
dilo’’ into La Verux’s life, this novel sweeps from 
chapter to chapter with a rapid succession of events. 
The Judgment scene where the murderer reveals the 
one redeeming feature of his villainous character is one 
not easily forgotten. And the tragedy enacted before 
the King and his assembled guests where the murder 
of Thersut Esmond Mantresat, father of De Oddilo, 
is vividly portrayed by Piet Jariac and Salvez Deje- 
but, the loyal champions of the hero; and the awe-in- 
spiring spectacle before the Louvre at midnight and 
the St. Louis Cemetery, are sublime. The dungeon 
scene at Vincennes, the fearful battle waged by La 
Verux against the incessant assaults of an implacable 
Conscience, and the pathetic scenes between his in- 
sane daughter Jenista, her old lover, and Cleolo Rey- 
nour, wring the heart with complex emotions. There 
is not a single dull page in the entire novel ; no yawn- 
ing whilst following the unfolding of this tale. If 
you enjoy historical novels, then read “La Verux'^ 
and be assured that you will appreciate its contents 
from cover to cover. 

12 mo.. Cloth. Price $1.50. 


Connoisseurs Press, 


Jersey City. 


DON VASCAENO, 

The Fruit, 

An Historical Novel. 

By 

Sylvester Cole. 

Sequel to “De Oddilo.” 

In this novel the chief characters of ‘‘De Oddilo’^ 
are continued, with several new actors added. Just 
prior to the siege of Marseilles Don Vascaeno, a 
Spanish warrior and boyhood friend of De Oddilo’s 
father visits Paris to acquaint the latter of his noble 
lineage, and of the murderous character of that arch- 
villain Charles Bertrand La Verux, learns through the 
insane daughter of the murderer that the son of his 
dead chum lies buried in the cemetery, visits the sup- 
posed grave, then hurries to the front of his King’s 
advancing army, where implacable Fate decrees that 
he capture a midnight spy who proves to be the ob- 
ject of his long search. The events following then in 
rapid rotation teem with excitement and swift action. 
And the scene enacted after the Battle of Pavia (1526), 
where poisons, intrigue and hired assassins strive for 
the life of De Oddilo, where Jenista, granted a price- 
less dowry if she succeed in her heart’s desire, lays 
siege to the heart of her one-time lover, are soul- 
stirring to the extreme. It is a story that you will 
relish with avidity from beginning to end. 

12 mo.. Cloth. Price $1.50. 

Jersey City. 


Connoisseur’s Press, 


THE FLIGHT OF A SOUL. 

By 

Jean Louis de Esque. 


Not since Milton’s “Paradise Lost and Regained” 
has such a long, portentous work made its appearance. 
Its action leaps from this mundane sphere through the 
great Void, thence to the Infernal Regions, where 
“Gyte monsters spill their bloody tears into a poisoned 
olpe.” For sustained imagination and masterly in- 
genuity of versification, this poem has no modern com- 
petitor. For symmetry of expression, rhythm and 
ploL It equals Bryant’s “Thanatopsis,” or Poe’s 
•‘"Raven.” It is a stupendous portraiture of the vast 
•Unknown, of the Stygian battlements of rock-ribbed 
Hell, the Empyreal kingdoms beyond Life’s mortal 
wake, and the spangled realms of Paradise, from 
whence a secret force spilled him from its bowered 
vale, and ""Bound him to the Chariot of Remorse with 
stronger chains than those that held Prometheus to 
the summit of Mount Caucasus.” Returning to earth 
he meets Satan, with whom he plays a game of dice 
to settle a long standing dispute, the stake being his 
own soul — and loses. 

The condition in which this poem was written as 
stated in the author’s preface is almost past belief. 
Scientists will marvel at it, laymen will shake their 
heads in doubt, overcome at the colossal^ kaleido- 
scopic spectacle as here described. 


Price $1.50. 


12 mo.. Cloth, 225 Pages. 
Connoisseur’s Press, 


Jersey City. 




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